camera

Im Smitsb, and Im standing right here, in this weird little hotel room, camera in hand, capturing the very soul of this place not just the bed with its crisp white sheets and that wooden headboard carved with secrets, not just the blue-and-gold patterned carpet thats seen too many footsteps, not even the old TV blinking like its trying to remember what channel it was on. No Im here for the camera, the one thing that lets me be both witness and participant in this moment. Its not just me taking a picture; its the cameras silent voice, the lens that pulls me into the frame, the shutter that traps this room the one with the woman standing in the doorway, half in shadow, half in the warm glow, her hand raised like shes holding the world in her palm. Thats the moment the moment when Im not just here, but there, and the camera? Its my eyes, my memory, my truth. Im Smitsb. And Im not just documenting this room Im capturing the very essence of this place, the one where the bed waits, the carpet whispers, the TV stares, and the woman in the doorway holds the moment. The camera doesnt just take pictures it steals them. And Im stealing this one.

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