There’s one shot in the Parisian metro where she’s trying not to smile. It’s silent beauty composed through bearing and spoken by the eye, known but not tamed, lucid but aloof, like a corset on a cloud. Only, that doesn’t sell the elegance of the moment. She looks at me through time and space and all of the humanities. She sees a world where I am nothing and I am everything. I am always present in each of my absences, an unseen object become subject. There’s one inescapable moment where I look and long. In it, I am there.