Scenes I've captured in my mind grow more beautiful with age, and were I to have a picture or capture their veneer I would know that they could never be more than that two dimensional box of canvas, paper, or photograph. Their scene would be forever preserved in that box and I could never forget; but they would never become more magical than they were when I witnessed the beauty with all my senses. They could never grow as they could if they were remembered with the beautiful, sad impermanence in a vessel incapable of such preciseness that might be found in the lens of a camera or the contrast of color or the sharp line of ink.
So it is always with a heavy heart that I force these beautiful things into such harsh boxes, and force them to become something more or less than they ever really were. But sometimes, it's the only way they can be communicated to others, and to let their beauty spread, and change hearts.
I suppose it's selfish to keep some of these scenes to myself, but whenever I get the feeling that I can reproduce them, I only end up angry and frustrated. I just don't have the heart, and don't know if I ever will.