I found myself incessantly trying to figure out how I could connect to my surroundings among an overwhelming knowledge of separateness. He is gone. She is an accidental blur of sunlight that momentarily found it’s way over the horizon. This element of mystery, this space outside of what I know and can describe, continues to exert its force and draws me back to the thoughts which I began with. The concern was never a friend who disappeared, but rather disappearance. The divide between personal memory and objective history is transitory at best. By allowing it to confront itself, a ghost story becomes a memory, a man becomes a a concern to make a film, then the man himself becomes a ghost.