Mr Morris was a great man, and still is in fact. He knows how to live.

Mr Morris, or James, as I prefer to call him, is a good friend of mine. He is an inspiration to me, particularly in the field of how to live. I’ve asked my self this question before, how does one live? It has a sinister feel, these sort of abrupt and present negative connotations, but I don’t mean anything like that. I mean, really and truly, how does one live. I don’t live very well, my prioritizations are all over the place, my automatisms are not of desired standard. When I have a spare minute I sit down, lie down to rest; do nothing. I should be up doing something. When it comes to the art of doing, James is an artist. Filling time with activities, filling a room with meaningful belongings and his orbital prefrontal cortex with social connections.

He has an eye for quality, practical-ness and meaning, surely all this leads to a better life.

I’ve always liked Mr Morris. Always. Although, we were never always as close as we are now. In saying that, I’d like to think we are close, despite the obvious geography between us; who knows of his actual whereabouts as we think of the man. Incredible.

It is an interesting one, I was meant to live with him at one point too. I wonder now, what would have happened if that were the case. It wasn’t out of spite nor hatred that it didn’t happen, just circumstances and closeness. In the end, it was probably the best thing to have ever happened, for him and for I. The people we met, the things we did and the life we’ve gone on to lead, can all be boiled down to that. That’s what I believe anyway.

This guy has been capturing history ever since then too, the guy picked up the camera and never looked back. Capturing the people, capturing the moments, solidifying their place in history. They aren’t really just photos to me, they are images from my memory, images from thee unprecedented time. Unprecedented images of the unprecedented cohort of youth that I belong, that we belong, James captured it all.

In my hour of darkness, when I found myself in a time of trouble, brother James came to me. Mr Morris rescued me from the pits of hell to bring me back to the place where it all began. Mr Morris was the man to bring me back, the man to sanction the action, to bring me back, bring me back to the only place I’ve ever called home. Not only that, he resumed this side quest of mine into the world of wine. Cheers to that.

Our reunion was short however, Mr Morris was onto bigger things, the world beyond the shire. We didn’t do the things we planned, not for any particular reason, but they will happen in time nonetheless. We have a lot of living to do. We said goodbye I don’t know, countless times, but with each time it got more real – when will be the next time I see this man?

This is when I stop writing, there is more I know of Mr Morris and what he means to me but there is too much to write, and too much that will remain unknown, all we can do is wait for his return. All we can do now is wait to hear the stories, wait to see the photos of Mr Morris and his, big step.

Mr Morris & The Big Step, a title inspired by Kendrick’s album, Mr Morale & The Big Steppers.