I have forgotten what it is like to write to a reader. I suppose you eat words the way I thrive on sunlight on skin. It is spectacular, photography, I mean. It sits so dormant in the in-betweens of buying milk and pushing open a door – but it is always there, yearning to capture what is beautiful about normality. Good and bad things will start and end, and start again, and end again and that is how life stays fresh and cruelly and divinely bitter-sweet. My subjects’ sad smiling eyes make it worth the confusion, and waltzing in circles before you and after you, my audience, has heightened what is rich in me.