"Every photo is a gentle tyranny of lost moments," the photographer can, with absolute subjectivity, freeze that memory, and when we become timid enough to choose to forget, it still bears the burden of sin for us.
Gao Ming walked into the darkroom, the light outside lingering on his shadow.
On the table in front of him were a thermometer, several beakers, a graduated cylinder, and clamps specifically for filtering water from film, with a row of slender ropes hanging above. Further away on the wall were numerous photos.
"This seems to be called a developing tank." Li Sansi's memory danced at Gao Ming's fingertips. He carefully opened the tank, adjusted its central axis and film clips, injected developer, stop solution, and fixer, gently swaying it, as if a photo from the past appeared in his mind.
"Li Sansi's mind held no memories of this room, no memories of the neighbors or the living people nearby. Were these forgotten times preserved in the photos?"
