An Open Letter

Hello, Random Person:


I know you can see my eyes wandering from the dirty street floor up to your face. Or maybe it’s your hair, or the line of your nose. I just can’t help it. I stare at people.



As I go through life, I’m constantly snapping pictures with my mind. Studying the light as it hits random people’s faces. That’s my life… to see… to see the world around me and find the little hints of beauty, or maybe I’m looking for the ugly in all that beauty. I just can’t help it. I stare at people.



Oops. Our eyes met again, I’ll quickly turn my head away and pretend I’m looking at the poster of… Oh shit, that’s an advertisement for Viagra. I don’t need that, I’ll quickly turn my head away. For a moment, I stare at someone or something else. I just can’t help it. I stare at people.



It’s not you, it’s me. You think I’m staring at you, but I’m not, I promise… I’m just looking at the light, or maybe it’s your skin, or maybe it’s the cool clothes you’re wearing, or maybe it’s the way your jeans fit you… Ok, I guess I am staring at you. I just can’t help it. I stare at people.



I’m walking up the stairs. You seem to be taking the same turns as me. As I turn the corner, I catch a glimpse of the way you walk. You have this sense of grace, almost like you’re floating. I think you notice me looking, again. I’m sorry. I just can’t help it. I stare at people.



Later that day, I’m walking down the street and happen to run into you again. I notice your outfit changed a bit. Your blouse is flowing in the wind, what beautiful movement. Your hair… Yes, your hair too it looks fuller – it’s not as wet like this morning – the wind gives it this beautiful flowy look. I look the other way as we pass. I think you noticed that I was looking at you again. I’m sorry. I just can’t help it. I stare at people.



I get home finally. I remember the things I saw today, and yesterday, and the day before. The flow of your dress. The attitude I sensed. The way you sat. The way you held on to the hand rail as you walked up the slippery stairs. Your hair flowing in the wind, your hair style – I love it.



I promise, I do it to everyone, everything. The Girls. The Guys. The Statues. The Buildings. The Taxis. The Cars. The Ocean. The Sky. The Light. The Dark.



You’re beautiful. You’re Ugly. Your style inspires me. Your style? What style? Your eyes freak me out. They’re glaring at me. I’m really not staring at you. You have this attitude that inspires me. Yes, I’m looking at you, but I promise I’m really not looking at you.



I can’t help it, I’m a photographer.



Sincerely,
Lee Folkard