Photographs, specially of people. They hold in not just pixels. They hold in a lot more, a lot more, that it could actually bring you alive. It can make your heart sink, or beat faster, or smoother.
Photographs, a power you’re holding, a weakness you’re grasping on to.
I recently held a photograph in my hand, of an unknown person. A complete stranger. But I held that photograph for long, quite long to picture it inside my head, to make it nearly impossible to erase. I didn’t know who that stranger was, nor I still know. But somehow, I felt I wish I knew. A face with a soft smile, warm eyes. Looking at me, right on my face, making me fall in love. And all after that, they became a part of my life, the source of my happiness, a huge part of me itself. How, I don’t know. Strange, weird, yes could be.
A photograph held so much power in itself, and so much life, that its absence actually had an affect on me. The first and the last thing of my day, yes that photograph. The photograph was the same every time, the person was the same. The smile, the eyes, the location was just the same. Even the feeling of looking at it, just the same.
And unknowingly, that person, who’s photograph lived in me, I’d wish they’d lived with me too.
I don’t know how, I don’t know why, all I know is that that photograph is more than just a photograph to me. A rare kind of love, the love I’d fallen in with that photograph. With that stranger.