Pictures of Us

One Sliver

of

the

whole

is snapped

away from me.

The photographer raises his 35 millimeter.

Unwilling to let this moment die,

in peace,

he destroys it,

makes it fake.

As a lie, it loses

its innocence.

“Smile,” says the photographer

to a girl having a bad day.

The moment wasn't meant to smile.

A moment has one

life to live.

I kill moments,

all the time.

Who knew murder

could feel so guiltless?

I don't feel bad

for bending time,

forcing it to do my will.

I trick it, manipulate it,

make it something

it never knew it was destined to be.

Is this so unnat-

ural?

How would you feel,

closest of strangers,

if I stole your moments

away from your intended path?

What if I mixed your

moments with mine?

Would your time be tainted,

as I manipulate mine and yours,

into believing it was always ours.

Honestly, I love you,

or at least the idea of us.

This is how all my friendships

start.

One moment to be ours,

and all others to use as we like.