Love Song for a Lost Love
I knew a girl once who told me she'd never eaten a Cadbury Creme Egg. At the time, I'd never enjoyed the simple pleasure that is three scoops of ice cream wedged between a bisected banana. To each other, we were perfect; we were incomplete. A project, a puzzle, a broken doll to be made whole. We were void, dichotomous, matter and anti-matter. Co-existing together, yet worlds apart. She would never let me call her, but she called me all the time. I do not claim to know what love is. I take pictures of what I think it is: change the shutter speed, adjust the aperture just enough to ensure that what I see before me is what develops.
But I could not adjust for my own farsightedness. It looked beautiful from my point of view, but without the power to zoom, I was unable to see the cracks in the painting, unable to see the frown lines, the wrinkles; the flawless facade of what I considered love was, in fact, crumbling. Finally, after I'd exposed the roll to the red light, dried it, and inverted the negatives to reveal the truth, I knew what I had lost. What I had not.
She never calls me.
I knew a girl once who told me she'd never eaten a Cadbury Creme Egg. At the time, I'd never enjoyed the simple pleasure that is three scoops of ice cream wedged between a bisected banana. To each other, we were perfect; we were incomplete. A project, a puzzle, a broken doll to be made whole. We were void, dichotomous, matter and anti-matter. Co-existing together, yet worlds apart. She would never let me call her, but she called me all the time. I do not claim to know what love is. I take pictures of what I think it is: change the shutter speed, adjust the aperture just enough to ensure that what I see before me is what develops.
But I could not adjust for my own farsightedness. It looked beautiful from my point of view, but without the power to zoom, I was unable to see the cracks in the painting, unable to see the frown lines, the wrinkles; the flawless facade of what I considered love was, in fact, crumbling. Finally, after I'd exposed the roll to the red light, dried it, and inverted the negatives to reveal the truth, I knew what I had lost. What I had not.
She never calls me.