Your face is different, he tells you. You ask him if this is a good thing. He says, yes, of course. He likes the way the light falls on the side of your nose, your high cheekbones.

He asks you if you'll sit for him, some time. His hands are pushed deep into his pockets and he flushes slightly. You ask him: what do you mean? He replies, talks about his camera. His eyes light up as he talks about shadows and effects of light, composition and models, and you enjoy the glow of his attention. He is carefree.

Later, much later, you keep the picture. Because he is right; the firelight reflects of your cheek in a way that makes you look mysterious, almost sexy in a way that is not at all inappropriate. Your eyes echo the darkness around you that year in a way that is touching.

You examine their dark depths, and you think that if you just squint, you can almost make out the camera mirrored in their depths.

And the camera equals Colin. And you miss him.