I take a lot of pictures. Mostly ones of things found in nature like flowers, birds and animals or plates of delicious food. Though I have forgotten the places where I took the pictures, there’s one that I hold close to my heart.
It was a warm, sunny afternoon. I was strolling through a large park with my beloved, drinking in the peace and quiet. I bent down to smell the flowers while he took out his camera and began snapping photos of everything in the park. I then took his camera out of his hands and ran as fast as I could, with him chasing behind me. I would’ve taken to the skies, but I can’t risk dropping the camera that he had saved up to buy.
I then got an idea. I want to take a picture of him. He doesn’t like taking pictures since he is not, according to him, very photogenic. I disagree, but there’s no use wasting my breath trying to convince him otherwise. I waited until he stopped to catch his breath, leaning handsomely against a tree trunk. I took the camera, focused in on him and clicked. I’m not a professional photographer but I did pretty well for my first ever photo. It showed my love leaning against the tree, his deep brown eyes closed as he breathed. His chin pointed a tad upward so you can see every bit of his masculine features.
I kept the photo hidden from him so that I won’t get an earful about it. I kept it even after we decided to end our relationship. I guess it was that we just don’t have that spark anymore, that jolt of electricity running through your veins as you set eyes upon one another. I suppose it was for the best, I’m better off alone anyway, but I will always have a piece of him with me every time I look at the photograph.
Tiffany’s Writing Desk 