Fave is a difficult word. It presumes closure. A clear winner. Yet a lot of points that stick with me do not settle.
Schedule?
There’s one I return to that reads like it never intended to read. Thin. Half-erased. Not concerning story. It’s more regarding the areas between the lines. What it withholds is more honest than what it gives. I keep it close since it does not flatter me. It doesn’t ask to be liked. It just is That type of book gives space to think sideways. Publications like that do not end, they resemble.
Movie?
One where absolutely nothing truly takes place. No arcs. No swelling songs. Simply individuals in spaces. Peaceful stress. Small looks that mean greater than complete scenes. Maybe black and white. Maybe foreign. What matters is the stillness. I such as a movie that lets silence stretch too long. One where you really feel the weight of what’s not claimed. The sort of film where you fail to remember to inspect your watch since time has folded in on itself.
TV show?
One season. Or perhaps canceled. Left raw. No answers, just environment. Maybe it opened a door and then vanished. That’s good. A program that trusts you to remain shed a while. Where each episode seems like it wasn’t made to last, yet somehow sticks around. The type of program that no one talks about anymore, which’s specifically why I remember it.
I like works that don’t try to hold your focus. They allow you roam. Let you neglect you’re viewing or reviewing. After that later on– hours, years– it returns to you. Not as memory, yet as structure. A trace.
That’s what I search for. Something unfinished. Something that refuses to fade cleanly.