The Soul Catcher And The Grey

I saw your eyes on the horizon tonight, staring at me in a perfect grey picture. They were beautiful. I saw your soul dance and breathe in the green sea today. In that moment I was reminded of your purple converses and wilful smile. In that moment I knew that nature was mourning you too.
         Behind me a man with a camera took a picture, I don't know why, maybe he saw you standing, gazing, over my shoulder. You see, my friend, if I had a camera and I saw your twisted curls and sculpted face... well, I'd take a picture too.
         Your soul was everything. It was too whole and too pure for the sin of love to touch. It was as well rounded as a nacreous tear cried at dawn and as fresh as a babe's wailing face at first breath.
          On my skin I felt your kisses as the rain fell on and around me. As I sit here writing this the wind tousles my hair and I can pretend, just for one moment, that it's your playful hands which do so. In my ear I hear your voice and I try to catch your words on this sheet of paper. But the ink is running on faster wings than time as the sea spits angry spray. Angry spray at me, for not treasuring you whilst I could.
          The man with the camera asks me whether I'm a writer. I told him I wasn't. I told him that I was a Moment Catcher. I catch perfect moments and pin them down with words. Then I asked him whether he was a photographer.
           He said no. He said to me that he was a Soul Catcher. Each night he'd find a soul and try to capture it within a photograph.  I think that this man is wise, like you.
           Tonight there was no copper tainting the evening's brow, I like to think that maybe you've forgotten him. Just me, you and the Soul Catcher, trapped in the lens of a camera. We'll be there forever, gazing out at the stormy sea and endless horizon.