Words and photography by Fabiana Sarnelli
Matt breaks the silence in the street.
I can see him on the balcony, gently strumming the chords of his guitar.
Every day looks like the one before since I’m in quarantine.
It’s hot today.
I lay on the bed, staring at the reflections on the window.
I’m becoming lazy.
I start thinking about the possibility of not being able to travel anymore, and that a lot of time will pass before I will be able to go out again shooting.
And then I see it.
A clear line on his profile in backlight.
I run to pick up the camera. Out of focus or focus?
I take advantage of the light and keep shooting.
Tonight I’m happy. I drink a glass of wine and think that I might be able to do it again tomorrow.
Everyday I find something new in a place I thought I knew.
At night the lights of the little town paint the white walls of the living room orange.
At sunset, the green leaves of our balcony plants turn pure gold.
Why didn’t I see it before?
Then, there are the grey days.
Those where I take out my camera, look through the visor, and I can’t see anything (yes, I removed the lens cap).
Pushing myself doesn’t work, I feel worse.
I snort. I put the camera down and go bother the dog.
Matt calls me from the other room.
Something stops me while I pass by the window. It’s a narrow beam of light. It cuts my shadow neatly in half. I move my head and now the light is right on my eye.
I think for a second. What should I do?
I stretch my arm and grab the camera.
Yes, it’s a damned selfie.
I love it. Click!
The weird thing?
I take more pictures now than ever.
I live in between two balconies, with the camera always on me, scared to lose a moment or something beautiful.
Matt looks at me discouraged.
I look crazy. But I’m having fun.
For more from Fabiana, you can find her on Instagram by clicking here.