Pablo y Laura.
I met them in DUMBO (Down under Manhattan Bridge Overpass) in Brooklyn, New York, last July when going to see The Maltese Falcon.
She was 19, worked in a factory in Colombia, he, 16, a Brooklyn skater and student. He played the harmonica as though it was an extension of himself. They were living together until Laura had to go back, in about three weeks.
You could tell how pure and innocent his love was just by the way he looked at her, kissed her on the cheek, asked to borrow my camera to take photographs of her. He got right up under her eye and traced the contours of her cheekbones with the lens. We talked in English and Spanish, and every so often Pablo ignored us to kiss his lady. We let him. There’s nothing like love cut short; everyone around knows that it’s something special, and best left to the two involved.
Looking through my iPhoto I see their happiness again and I’m reminded of why we’re here: to love, to be loved, and to be happy overall. I tried to email Laura this photo, but the e-mail address she gave me never worked. I never saw them after that night. I hope somewhere they have a place they can be alone together, without the distance and without the time and without the worry. I hope they are still in love and happy like the day I saw them in the park.
