And so, once I had a fancy camera like that in my name, I decided to take a self portrait — like yours, except the only person you should compare yourself to is who you were in the past.
But I fumbled to turn the camera on, as I was reminded of your own backpack filled with equipment, that only opened at subtlety and at no one’s inconvenience. I knew you knew all the numbers like the back of your small, freckly hand, while I barely made sense of them. Manipulating light and focus points was your specialty, making each feature strike.
But I wouldn’t seek your advice this time. Besides, I’d never have those blue eyes anyway.
