Clouds. I wish to eat them so I won’t gain weight. I’d probably be hungry still, but I’d do the work to fool my body into thinking otherwise. Like zero calorie, zero density gum.
Clouds. I wish to see them each day as they remind me of childhood, especially the unforgettable series of Toy Story films. They remind me of Andy. I was Andy. I am Andy.
Clouds. I wish to touch them, but that’s impossible. They wouldn’t feel like much. It’s a relatable notion.
Clouds. I wish to play with them. Make art with them. Little apples and oranges, but white and fluffy. Cute elephants and muddled babies. Disfigured bodies surrounded by ornamental forestry. Play to further ignore what’s at hand. It sort of works.
Clouds. I wish I could be them. I envy their ability to come and go. Their ability to cause major raucous and induce boundless nostalgia all the same. Their ability to travel inexhaustibly (and free, too). Their ability to change shades and shapes and sizes.
Clouds. I can never be one, or even two. Even still, my admiration for them could never change.
-Photo shot at The Royal Palace in Phnom Pehn, Cambodia, August 2015.