Closing a chapter and drawing a line through each word, we have come to the final sentence.
Drawn out and exposed, the canvas is stained with the past and discolored with the search for a future.
I find myself staring blankly into the dark, feeling my jaw unclench and my facial muscles begin to relax.
The sound of the television buzzes in the background as the only light illuminating the darkened room is that of my laptop. The LED light casts a harsh shadow across my face.
At a loss for words, I attempt to fill the pages with stories.
I find myself once again in the same situation, shedding skin and opening myself to the possibility of a future, yet bombarded by the irrepressible nature that is the future. Through the creation of self-actualized ideologies, I have reached the point where I do not know what is real and what is imaginary. Creating romanticized visions in my mind, I concoct delicately written storylines that with hope, I trust that they will become a reality.
Mentally flipping through the pages, I can call upon each individual occurrence that led me to where I am now; Each storyline and every character, primary or secondary, that has found their way into my vortex of madness. With every published piece, each page dictates a different plotline and story that holds a new complexity and intensity.
The weight on my stomach increases.
Etched into my skin, I see the eloquent lines trace the surface of my body. Lines and shapes echoing the portrait of my past that build a refuge in my arms.
Finding permanent homes on my skin I wear the art for all to see.
Filling the gun with blanks we play Russian roulette with fate, attempting to feel something and to achieve euphoric heights without an actualized plan.
Growing tired of self-loathing, I continue unpacking my belongings. It has officially been two weeks since I have moved, yet I have unfortunately not unpacked all of my possessions. Rifling through my belongings, I find a disposable camera in the side pocket of my backpack. I think to myself, “How have I not developed this yet?”. I look at the film reel and note 2 images left. Looking through the viewfinder, I scan my surroundings: New bedroom, bad lighting, click. I snap a photo of my new room.
Once used, the disposable is then brought to a developer where the film is transferred into prints. We achieve photographic evidence of what was in the film, but the actual camera is not to be used again.
A disposable camera, used till the film runs dry and then tossed. Is that we are? Are we disposable? Used up and tossed away when we have nothing left to offer. As I try to distract myself with melancholic melodies from a Spotify playlist, my mind comes back to the disposable camera. Contrasting questions begin to fill my mind: What images are housed on this film? What was I doing? Who was I with?
The timeless aspect of a disposable camera is the ability to look at hard copies of images that depict what one was doing at a certain point in life.
With this camera being just over two years old, I assume that these photos depict a time that I had just begun to block out. I look at my unfamiliar surroundings, and I think to myself: Are memories created to be good, bad, or disposable? remembered one day and forgotten the next
With a headstart, my feet beat the cobbled pavement. Wind whisking my hair back, I let the breeze take me as I run to the figure in the distance. With every step I take, I move closer to the figure. My mouth curves into a smile as the wind continues to graze my cheeks. Emotion heavy, passion high, I beat on, but the figure stands still. Out of breath, lungs heavy, body aching, I continue to run towards the figure. With every step, I am no closer to the silhouette, an outline of what I thought I knew. No longer able to catch my breath, I stop running. The figure remains shadowed in the distance – Close, yet untouchable.
It was more than an ending, it was a conclusion. A conclusion of a time where I let my heart roam freely, and felt the rush of unparalleled euphoria overtake my body and mind. We found ourselves separated, no more different than those who have come before us
Putting the camera in my back pocket, I continue my unpacking.