The Tourist

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Well, besides having excursions into the wild everyday, and fabulous and very late meals, I will make another excuse for taking so long to write. I am notoriously an 'in the moment' sort of guy. I have been working so hard this trip to have the camera ready for action, that I take notes on the finer details, that I pay attention as a good tourist should, to the rattling off of facts and points of interest by our incredibly well educated guides. I say that I am working hard. I am convinced that it is almost scholarly. It is ridiculous.

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I like the idea that I am here, now. Just as anytime that I have tried to express total and incorruptible love to a woman, I have always felt the moment has been left cheapened, somehow less genuine, with the click from the lens, or a blurb on a page. Like the foolish words of a young mans smitten heart. 

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So here I am, flying in the face of my experience, my hesitations. Just as with a woman that I desire, I must express myself, regardless of the terrible display of medium or the outcome. To not steal away images, as if they were little kisses, of our time here, to not let the words I write unfold, rolling down out of my head, would be a wasted opportunity. It'd be a missed chance of reciprocated love, or a missing memory as time slowly, gently, washes them away the same way the ocean takes the shore. 

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It also gives me something to do with my hands. 


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Gordon WicksComment