Journals of a Young Girl

We make films on the weekends. Clayton's grandpa has all kinds of cameras and film in his basement, and we root through them for the stuff that doesn't look moldy. We won't know if the film works until we've strung it up on one of the old Super-8s, but it isn't about the finished product. It won't be until we're older, longing to look back. Right now it's enough to be making movies without sound, trying to capture what the sun looks like against Clayton's cheek, one eye squeezed shut, the other trying hard to memorize in case the film is too old to do its job.