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Two
lovers escape a parent's watch, in the cellar choosing a bottle
of wine for dinner. With the wine in hand, the task completed,
they both start up the stairs again. The first step, a quiet
overtakes their young chatter. The second step, a pause. The
third step, a stolen kiss, shared between the two. The fourth
step, the pair resume the chatter and the walk up the stairs.
Back at the table, one trained with the eye might notice the
pair both breathing more heavily. The climbing of the steps?
Or, the stolen kiss?
Stealing a kiss is like stealing a moment of time from the harsh
workaday world, making the moment one's own, to be placed in
a cherished spot of the memory. The modern world is frightening
and incomprehensible; time passes on too quickly. A life can
pass by in the blink of an eye. At the end, the stoop in the
elderly woman's back is not a ravage of time, rather the weight
of her regrets and sorrows. A stolen kiss is stealing back time,
keeping time from passing. Like a grasp for the sunlight flowing
over the windowsill. Perhaps futile, but a try and a chance
nonetheless.
A stolen kiss is an entire day spread before you, nothing to
be done, save for what you make of it. A morning at a sidewalk
cafe with a cup of coffee and a book. An afternoon on a bench
in the sun musing and the smell of blooms. A late night at the
discotheque, with the beat and the chemicals drowning away the
worry. And the next day, you could do it all over again. Or,
do something else. Countless variations to be made; a stolen
kiss is a choice of how to get through the day.
Life can be pieced together from a series of beautiful moments.
The heartbreak of watching your lover be distanced from you
as the train pulls away from the station. The anticipation and
excitement of waiting for a record to arrive in the post. Watching
the fog roll in from the lochs at Inverness, or simply the sun
rising on a bright new day. Whatever, really, that makes you
feel and care... Take the moment and make it your own. Those
are stolen moments; those are stolen kisses.
With gratitude to Francois Truffaut.
| Matthew
Patrick, September 1998 |
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