What shall I seek?

Is it the emotions I seek as I look through my viewfinder.

What is pure and clear rests in your eyes, like the fresh frost on a cold winters night. That flash of passion that drifts a cross your face, seems to wonder about your body igniting the very essence of your soul.

You are but a sculptor chiseling away at the very rock.

There was nothing there but the cold textures of space until you arrived. That emptiness that has no sound is only broken by the shuffle of your steps, as if the very dust becomes willing to answer your presents. It is your fear pounded by your confidence you have used to stand so proudly, likened to the monuments of old.

Alas I seek you, not half, but you.

Every smile or tear, every turn or stance as the colors drift away and I slip into a trance. That excuse of flash, that click. Knowing full well how it will be impossible to capture even but a moment of you, how I settle for a glimpse.

How inferior the optics I use, for it is only that glimpse that shall be framed, As the dust settles back down, and my emptiness returns, you have become a blur of light, a shadow of my night, yet it is that single frame will be all that remains as you seek your fame.

Thus is our agreement.