Reality. How do you tell what’s real and what’s not when you’re dreaming? I try and capture the essence of a dream with my home made pinhole camera, which was my first run in with Lomography.
Colours. Everywhere. The world swims around me, as I gasp for breath. I look over the wall, looking for something. I’m not sure what. Colours.
I see the leaves. I see the sky. They merge into one. I see the trees in the sky. Am I flying? Am I floating? I don’t know where I am. The sun streams down on my face, warm. Wasn’t it winter?
I walk on, as the sun runs its course. Cars speed past me. I wave my hand, but they don’t slow. They don’t stop. Do I exist? I keep walking.
I see a house in the distance. I feel tired. Should I go there? I decide I might as well try. I think to myself as I walk towards the house. I must exist. How can I not?
I see a fleeting shape at a door. It stops and looks at me. I look at it. Am I imagining it? I walk towards it cautiously. It waits.
She looks strange. I can’t figure it out. I can barely hear her, even though she’s right beside me. I reach out. And my hand passes through her. I gasp, and jerk my hand back. She sees my reaction. She looks sad, on the verge of tears. I feel bad. I think about how I would feel if no one in the world could see me, touch me, and hear me. I reach out again, and touch her face.
The world dissolves. I find myself looking out of a window. I see walls. Buildings, reaching out into the sky. Where am I?
I look around. I see an old photograph. I see her. And someone else. Who is it? It seems so familiar, but I can’t place it.
And I’m back on the street. I see a girl standing across the street. Is it her? I walk towards her. Every step I take seems to last for a million years. Time creeps to a standstill. Silence. I can hear nothing. Not the wind blowing through the leaves, not the sound of my footsteps, not even my breathing. Silence.
A flash of colour. And I’m back to where I started. The girl is gone. The wall. I go back to the wall. I climb it, and then there is nothingness.
I woke up the next morning. I felt strange. Melancholic. I had a feeling that I was forgetting something I shouldn’t. I sighed, and got out of my bed. Another day. I opened my diary, as I do every morning, and a stack of photographs fell out. My eyes widened as I saw them scattered on the floor, my dream coming back to me. I finally recognized the girl I saw in the photograph in my dream. It was me.