The fan on your laptop spins like a small, desperate heart.
Pinnacle. The peak. The highest point before the fall. A word that promises the summit but delivers the vertigo.
You import your footage. Your shaky wedding video. Your dead dog’s last walk. Your child’s first word, captured vertically because you panicked. The B-roll of rain on a window you shot because you were lonely and the camera gave you permission to look at something.
