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Tuesday, 20 December 2011


I only really started making films just before you left us. You were always so supportive. Always saw who I was. You were a dreamer but you were realistic. You were a listener. You were a traveller. You showed that life could be something else.

You watched my first film when you were already near gone. I think I forced it on you, I wanted you to see it. Wanted you to know who I was.

Of course, you already knew. Funny how those who leave earliest leave the longest lasting footprints. Every thing I create that has an impact on anyone has a direct link back to you.

I remember you loved 'The Green Mile', but preferred the book.  It's great that I remember that because I hardly remember anything. Specifics fade, feelings linger.

You're the only person I knew who didn't need an explanation. You could just look at a Spielberg picture in my room and know my path.

I don't believe in heaven and fairytales, I'm sorry. But I feel you here when I choose the right word, when I nail a scene, when I write something like this. That's what you left me, an essence, a feeling that says "This is who you are." Who I am is the kid in the room who felt accepted merely by a glance or a word or a smile from you.

I miss you but you're here.

Care to share?

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