What happens when you try to shoot the way somebody else sees? Can you ever really capture how somebody else feels? Or am I doomed always to a sort of autistic interpretation of somebody else's thoughts, where I know what I wish to say and articulate it beautifully on my tongue but cannot hear the sense in my syllables or the syntax in my heart? Words paralyze, sometimes, because they are bottle-necked by my emotions, and leak rather than soar, so I resort to the safety of images, so I can show you what I meant to say but could not speak. Rachel recognises my paralysis, and smiles not to defend herself but to encourage me: go ahead and say what you feel, she says, and this refrain becomes a chorus softly laid over the beat of my camera's shutters.