Memories — a short story
Nov 5 · 1 min read

Invisible eyes and crinkled faces
always mine more than yours.
The difference made even starker
by your composure
in the end.
We never know where to look
or whether to grin or not
or how to stop you from making me giggle.
Smile too much or a deadpan stare
that shouldn’t be so much of a riddle.
And when we think we are ready,
smiles composed and finger steady.
A click, a smile, and one more glance.
But what we are trying to capture
has a will of its own,
its own spirit, its own dance.
We are really bad at being photographed
aren’t we?
But why do we care?
We are really good at making memories.
