Photographs


‘Why don’t you like your photos?’ she asked me. The soft sunlight kissing her cheeks ever so lightly, her hair loosely spread over her shoulders and those goddamn eyes, a picture perfect moment with all the puns intended, I believe. Facebook in its app form had decided to rear its head in an otherwise perfect winter morning and had led to this question from her. ‘Nobody likes their own pics’ I said dismissively. 
‘No, you know that‘s not what I mean’ she said. 
Ofcourse I knew what she meant. I always do. Without fail, she manages to ask me questions I would rather not answer or at the very least avoid. ‘Well…’ she implored softly, waiting for my voice to fill the blanks left by my silent musings. ‘There is no reason per se. People get clicked all the time, don’t they? That pose, this angle, eyes closed eyes open, this background etc etc, I just don’t see the appeal of having myself included in it. There are enough of that already…’
‘But you look good’ she paused and then hastily added hiding a traitorous blush, ‘in some of them, I mean’.
I smirked at her innocent attempt but decided to let it pass. Surely her blush was indication enough. I smiled a little more and then sighed.
‘I have too many, that too by your own admission, so what’s the point of it? I’m tired honestly. No more fake smiles, no more false lighting, no more crooked teeth. No more puzzle pieces of me captured in fragmented moments plastered on the face of an effervescent history that incidentally only exists in stray mentions’, I replied. ‘There is no more of my definition in the form of lights and shadows on paper. I don’t think I’m anybody’s firm idea, you know?’
‘I do but…’
‘No, you see that’s the problem’, I continued just tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear absent mindedly. ‘I simply don’t see myself as a pasted sticker on a flickering prologue to something that once was. I’m like a brook, a river, if you will. Each shore brings me a new challenge and I change. I suffer but I change each time’.
She continued to stare at me, her fingers intertwined with mine. I didn’t know whether she meant it or was it random. I didn’t want to risk it and so I took a moment to click that image mentally and tuck it away safely to some corner in the gallows of my mind.
‘I am not the man I was and when tomorrow comes I’ll not be the man I am today. I’m change and ironically enough I’ve never romanced the idea of change. I’m all about being steadfast and yet each photo reminds me of the changes that have moulded me into me. Who are these people in the negatives? Who is wearing jacket in that pic? I am not them, well not anymore, not completely anyway. I’m like the rains, each time I fall quench a different thirst. Each time I cater to a different storm.’
She listened to me wide-eyed. Trying to soak in the words that had found their way out. The soft morning had unnecessarily taken a black and white hue to its picturesque setting. And like a HD quality still, she shared the moment with me. She stayed there with me.

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