Nope, it doesn't exist.

There it is.

It sits back there and assumes that a more perfect version of this moment was possible.

It's a moment of fiction.

It's a moment of incomplete living, because the more perfect moment of this specific time and place doesn't exist. What does exist is the reality of human lived experience—which, when happening, made its own way in the world.

The perfect version of it doesn't have a name or a place. It doesn't exist.

Grieve it and let it go.

This is what we have, this…here.

Note from our recent photo exposition: this moment couldn’t have gotten better.