Every time his camera points, I forget to breathe. The sound of waves, the whisper of wind—everything stops. In his lens, I exist only as a subject, but inside, he shines through me like light.
“The sunset is beautiful,” he murmurs. My heart aches a little. His eyes always look past me, capturing the world, not me.
A withered tree stands before the sunset, its shadow dividing us.
Love, perhaps, is most beautiful when it goes unanswered. Each click of his shutter traps my feelings inside the frame.
If I am light, then he is shadow—and maybe the world is gentle because of that contrast.
As the sun sinks again, I smile, pretending to be the “someone” reflected in his viewfinder.
The camera’s soft sound marks the quiet end of my heart.
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