{ fragile as we are }

ethaney:

I wasn’t used to dating someone who loved taking pictures of everything and who often times enjoyed taking pictures of me. I was strictly a Photobooth-in-private sort of person and somehow I remember shying away from ‘real’ cameras often. I’m not sure though, sometimes my memory fails me. But I ended up dating someone who was an avid photographer and who literally carried (and still does) a camera with him at all times.

I was especially shy in the beginning months and sometimes I would get angry. Huffing and snapping, getting frustrated at the fact that he couldn’t understand that I wasn’t anywhere near being a model and that more often than not, I was not up for having my photo taken. Sometimes when he would agree and back off with a kiss to my forehead, I would wonder why I hated it so much. Was it because I was afraid what he would see through the lens would be a letdown of what I feel like he should be seeing? Was it because he appreciates things all aesthetic and maybe the aesthetics he appreciate wouldn’t really translate through plastic and glass? Maybe that I’m not photogenic at all unless through Photobooth? I wasn’t sure what it was but I would groan and pout when he had a great idea to do in the comfort of our own home or against a blank wall in our neighborhood.

‘Morgan….No….’ I would say and the look of disappointment would wash over his features and I would feel like the world’s literal worst girlfriend. So most times, I would awkwardly comply and stand too stiffly, shy my face away, barely smile or frown. He asked if I wanted to see them and I would always answer ‘no’ and skip up the stairs or hurriedly busy myself with something else. I never wanted to see what I looked like. Ever.

And yet there are times where I let my guard down and my vanity slip a little and I comfortably let him take what he wants. And there are times where I see how he translates me through a shutter and a click and I remember how fucking wonderful he is at what he does. 

I forget that it’s a huge part of who he is and what he’s passionate about out of my own vanity and my own defiant selfishness and sometimes I remember that he’s inviting me into a part of what he loves. And to him, it’s something intimate.

I always seem to forget the most important things. Always.

this just struck a huge chord with me.