Capture.

If I could have anything, impossibility set aside,
I would ask to have a camera set behind my eyes.

Lenses unable to blur void of tears, free of fingerprints and streaks of castoff memory life unrecorded. One mind can only store so many eyebrow scars and perfectly traceable lines found along the hardly predictable curves of uncharted territory.

Nothing, it seems, can capture the moon. Light gives between the accumulation of so many sunny, cloudless days. The city lends a hand, sheeting the stars with opaque halos, each its own. Imperfect views hindered by power lines and oil on car windows become hazy mental pictures we couldn't adjust lighting, lenses, and technology to store for us. Every night we look up at the same moon. It appears in different shapes according to pattern and keeps company with varying swirls of the weather while we guard silence and fluttering eyelids. Disregard dollar signs; the most valuable memories never will be those with witty captions on public profiles.

Few remain as clear as brown eyes lined with tears as a brow-brushing brunette holds a rain-soaked page containing far more than words on college ruled lines. The moment you learn what it is to love and lose is one of the last things you give up to age. As detestable as love is, the portrait of its first appearance is each owner's best kept secret. The way you wear the blank peace of sleep unraveled the complicated ambiance you worked so hard to build; youth makes us honest, and we're all the same when we're set to dreaming, forgetting. I have so much of you figured out; game over. Catching you off guard, voice lighter and eyes less hesitant, letting a smile spread from your eyes to your lips, keeps the assurance that you've embodied honesty.

The shame in this mental memory card is the slowly dissolving past, like the way ambition colored your skin and broken bits of leaves catching along the beaten strands of carefree hours. Missing everything about you doesn't prevent me from coating old memories with a rotation of seasons. I'm in constant motion as the colors I've memorized blur around me. Each second stored away runs into the next, and it's moments like these that I wish could be immortalized outside the confines of blurring pasts and prominent presents.

Approach wishing your time away slowly and keeping a sharp mind earnestly. Therefore, I want to line my walls with the exact images my eyes take in between rapid-fire blinking. I wish only to remember in motion.