Nick Ortoleva

It's the product of warm air hitting the cold ground.

A refreshing, ethereal world; particularly on a summer night.

Watching the light bounce through the mist of the night.

The soft, diffused light is magical to me.

The light sprinkle of rain hits my face and covers my camera.

The feeling is lively and invigorating.

I can't help but feel like I am plagued with a fog.

A haze.

A fuzziness even.

Always consumed by it, I feel as though it is swallowing me whole.

It is a constant in this unstable, wickedly volatile mind I have.

A haze that seems to interrupt my everyday.

It is a heavy, dense fog that only the strongest lights can break through.

Something I am lost trying to navigate through.

Something I am trying to find my way through.

Blurring the time in between moment to moment,

I can't help but to miss out.

The moments that seem to be lost are what is most frustrating.

I am present but am not present.

The moments of pure disconnect.

The moments where I feel nothing.

My time here becomes a fleeting moment,

never to be the same again.

It is never the same again.

It always recedes, like the tide.

A strong, natural force to be reckoned with.

There is not disrupting it.

I know all that is lost will find its way back.

Similar to a fog on a summer night, it disappears.

Only to find its way back.

It is the same again.