Had I never pressed the playback button, I would never have to find myself crawling out of the pain caused by the absence of the figure I used to consume day and night—the pointy edges of your shoulders, the messy hair strands of yours, and the pair of lips that goes in accordance with the motion of your beautiful but piercing words.
Had I never laid a hand on the camera, I would never have to find myself digging through the memory scrapes of the pictures of you in my head—because although you were no longer the object of the photographs I take;
still, the fear of my eye capturing the constant shadow of your being keeps me looking back—for I miss the adrenaline rush of being in direct confrontation with what scares me the most, instead of just being haunted inside out but only from afar.
A treasured ghost to me, is what you are.
No comments:
Post a Comment