1. polaroid pictures
[ dedicated to e.]
I sat on the cold floor surrounded by hundreds of perfect squares blanketing the ground, all forming into different stories and events. The squares lay on the floor, sharp edges on some, bent edges on the others.
My fingers run delicately across the plain field of memories, from months ago to years ago. Everything seemed the same just a last week but today it’s just dark. It’s dark outside in the clouds of the shivering snow and it’s dark inside the nice warmth but underneath that it’s cold and empty inside.
The perfect squares displayed beneath my toes show different people; they aren’t of me, of us. They are genuinely happy and they are smiling. I frown and feel no happiness now. As if I’m living in a black hole that takes more and more things away from me.
If I added on to these squares each image would look ordinary like the others but beneath, the image will be split and torn. Burnt and broken is what they truly show. When I look at these “perfect” squares they aren’t perfect. They seem fake, and unrealistic because I didn’t feel that way anymore.
Tossing and throwing the objects around, I slow down drastically falling to my knees. I can’t hide anymore; there’s nowhere else to go but forward. I could remember the good and the bad times of before and try and make them reality but it won’t work. It’ll never be the same as it was last week.
He was lying there in that bed and I was at home not even thinking about it. Getting ready for school is what I was doing, thinking that day would be the same as the day before. But one phone call can take all that away from you.
You can’t always fool yourself believing that everything will be perfect. This world is far from it, pictures don’t lie, they only capture the truth.