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Forever is composed of nows
Avery watched Harry decline the incoming call without a second thought. "We should get going." He said, already making his way to the door. She quickly grabbed her keys and her coat before following him out of the flat. There was something impatient and troublesome about his presence as he waited for her to lock her front door.
"How are we getting there?"
"We drive." He must be a damn good photographer if he could afford a car. As if he could read her mind, he soon spoke, "The car's not mine, It's my uncles."
The vehicle was small but cute. It seemed to fit him well. During the drive to the club, Harry was rather quiet and closed off. Later saying that his friends were already there, quickly assuming she still remembered them from his birthday.
"So, you're a photographer, right? What do you photograph?"
"I like black and white photographs," He said. He stopped to think about what he was going to say next before he continued. "When I got into photography, I used to just take pictures of my friends without them noticing. Then I moved on to public transport, parties, concerts. All those places where you can catch a glimpse of people's souls. I quickly threw out all of my colored films and switched to black and white. There's something so much more vulnerable and secretive about it..."
"I like that." She imagined Harry with a camera in his hand, spending his days in London looking for the mystery in every person who passed him.
He gave her a small smile, one that did not reach his eyes. "Me too. However, I can't make money with that. It's not good enough to stand on its own, so I work for a modeling agency as a photographer. It's not bad, they pay good enough but it also shows me just how much I hate staged photographs. What about you then? What's your passion?"
She shrugged, moving her gaze to the front. "Writing, I guess." The truth was, she had no idea. In her opinion, it was too hard for her to organize all of her thoughts inside of her head, let alone sit down to put them to paper. She wanted to be a writer. She did. It was one of the only things she really wanted, but she knew she didn't have the talent or skill set for it.
"So you want to be a journalist? Or a writer?" Harry asked. She struggled with finding an answer since nobody had ever shown that much real, genuine interest in her.
"Just a writer, I think... but journalism sounds nice too." In reality, she'd like to tell him that she didn't know what to do. Tell him that she was lost. Completely and utterly lost. In her childhood, she was never given the chance to find her talents or develop specific abilities. She had never shown her work to anyone, only submitting a handful of short stories to magazines just to receive no reply in return.
"Can you tell me more about your photographs?''
He grinned and told Avery more. He spoke with so much emotion that Avery found herself wondering if she had sounded the same when she talked about writing. Most likely not. I felt like he knew exactly what he was doing. He knew how to capture an image and turn it into the most wonderful masterpiece.
