A Photograph

Has anyone told you how photogenic you are? I can’t help but want to take photos of you with an old camera, on film that needs to be developed. I want to hold them and stare at them.

Photogenic, no. I’m drawn to stare at you but I can’t put my finger on what it is I want to see. It is not only your face but also I want to stare at your hair, your arms, your hands and your neck.

Can someone’s movements be captured in a photo?

You’re so handsome. A creature of calm, peaceful beauty. I become startled when you smile. It transforms your face so starkly I hardly recognize you; It’s like your color changes from warm to brilliant. It feels like that lucky chance when you catch a glimpse of a lightning strike.

I haven’t imagined what you might feel like though. It is too much, I might become too outwardly giddy or my breathing may become heavy and obvious.

I do know that if we were to ever touch, I would want a photo of it, so I could hold it and stare at it.

There would be music playing. The room would be lively. I will stand up from my seat and lean in toward your ear. You will lean in too, over the thing that divides us, looking past me. At some point we forget that there never was any word to be whispered. My hand will delicately tell your chin to turn into my cheek. There your lips will graze me until they are planted against mine. At that moment a shudder will sound and the photo will remember what happened, and just how beautiful it was.