The rays of sun glaring down your eyes magically make them a bit brighter. I never knew that your eyes could have such a mesmerizing color. They are so captivating, I wish to hold on to the memory of them forever. I want to have proof of this moment years from now, proof of how young and carefree we used to be; right before turning into miserable senile old people.
Let me photograph you in this light then, while we still have time; while we still are as perfect as we can be. Wasting no spare time, I lift up my loyal companion -my camera- I close my left eye and take a look through that lens.
But as I try to focus, I pause to this realization. That right here, right in this very moment I am blessed to be staring right at my definition of happiness, a dream that took what seems like a lifetime to come true. Suddenly, I change my mind and put that camera aside. I want my hands to be free while I place them behind your neck and find my way to your lips.
Surprised by my spontaneity; for you were expecting me to have your picture taken, you do not respond immediately to my kiss. But that doesn’t stop me for giving you more and more, being present more than ever in this moment.
Yet when you do respond; the world becomes silent and I only focus on the sparks of the fireworks that our kiss brings with it. Such beautiful fireworks. I nod with satisfaction once I open my eyes and place my hands to your chest. I figure that the magic of your kisses or the way you look down at me as I lie in your arms and you whisper to my ear, could never be captured in a simple photograph. I have no regrets for not taking that picture of yours then, I reckoned that it would be better to have this sweet memory printed in my mind and carved upon my heart, right where it belongs. Placing this memory upon a piece of paper would be far too simple.
However, the next morning I find it unbearably difficult to show some self control and not take the picture of you, while you peacefully lay next to me half naked. I am so thrilled by the view of you, that I shoot a dozen pictures. It doesn’t matter if they are all displaying the very same position and face expression of yours. It is proof of how you are mine, of how you belong to me and to nobody else. I want to show the world of how happy I am this morning, waking up next to you in the same set of freshly cleaned sheets.
I want to prove them wrong for not believing in true love. “I have proof you idiots – here it is!” It slowly breathes against my pillowcase and mumbles weird swear words between dreams. Just before I am about to post this on social media, boastfully showing off how incredible my life has become, the swear words become whole sentences. You shake the sleep out of you – you must be having a nightmare. At once, I leave the device down from across the room where I isolated myself in order to edit my post, carefully choosing the correct filter. Who fucking cares about the damn post really. Who is actually going to care about us being happy beside the very few acquaintances of ours?
I reach out to you, hug you so tight and wake you up from the bad dream you are having. Baby wake up – this is reality, here I am. There you have my real life, you and me together, not the one I’m pretending to have online. There’s absolutely no need of the world to know, neither if we go to fancy restaurants nor if we are as a matter of a fact together. Let’s keep this a secret, shall we? The longer we play hide and seek with the rest of the world, the longer we are going to have fun; without having anyone to spy on us or having to give justifications just in case something does not turn out well in between us.
I suppose a private life is a happy life after all. If I have you, I don’t need to prove anyone that I am happy. You make me who I am, the best version of myself. And if I have to keep you secret in order to be like this forever, I shall. You are my treasure and I don’t plan to lose you anytime soon. Road trips, mountain hiking, trips, sunsets, benches, quarrels, pillowfights, football games, cooking, cleaning the house – it is always going to be you and I being present in the moment.
No mobile phones, no pictures taken; we have our memory lane to stroll down. Why don’t we create a folder of memories then, instead of a folder of pictures on social media? There is no need to hashtag you as my man; you already know that every night when I strip my clothes down and make love to you; you and only you. Neither do I have to consecutively type ten hearts on my keyboard as a caption to show you how much I love you.
You must be an idiot to think otherwise.
Oh no, I just have to capture this face holding the mop.
This is so going to be posted online. Sorry babe.