He
realizes how much has changed. They reflect on his eyes.
Pictures
speak on the tip of his lips, as he clicks to the next picture, taken by people
he may have no idea about, of people he used to see on a regular basis. Smiles
flash against the screen: selfies to circle of people he’s rarely talked to,
and places taken years ago he’s never visited.
He
doesn’t realize how the rush grazed his fingertips, clicking next, digging the album. He doesn’t hear
the time ticking to minutes to hours and it’s passed midnight he feels it’s
just seven. He’s unaware of everything past him, while he gets lost to the
fragments and frames that don’t even last a second. He only realizes how much
has changed, as he reinvents those time stamps with poor dialogue taken years
ago, of smiles, laughter, and eyes that will forever look back at him. And
there, he’s unaware of himself. He’s only aware of the darkness and the blues
buried in his ears and the brightness absorbing his face.
To
the next click, he found himself back to the start.
His
cigarette burnt down to the filter, yet he flicks the ashes to the tray. He
finishes the half-empty coffee that has cooled down amidst the browsing; the
bittersweet, churning and playing down his throat as he swallows multiple times
to wear off, but it doesn’t help, so he swallows again. He gathers his gaze on
a freshly uploaded picture staring back at him; a boy who must be in his early
twenties; formals pushed to his lean built, buttons sealed to his neck without
a necktie that could finish against the black sleeves. Clay defines the strokes
of his hair as he wears his best grin that reminds him of happy flashbacks that took place years ago. And against the
picture, he’s lost to the thoughts, smiling. But his smile wavers, and as he
strains to keep them, his lips level, until a little too soon, everything is
indifferent.
Sometimes,
you’ll understand why blues are just sad songs dressed in jazz, arranged in a
progression in which you could tap your feet and balter; you’ll never
understand the lyrics until you feel them yourself.
And
that’s what happens.
He
sees so much on pictures that took place years ago. He does this most of the
nights, if not every night. He notices people’s differences and changes over
the past couple of years; they mature, hair was cut—grown, smiles are better,
eyes are happier. They see so much of the world as they move out of their
comfort zones and leave homebound. They’re so busy they forget others exist,
too, including him.
Yet
he’s moved past four—no—six years ago noticing tiny details: the street, the
kids who used to move past him as he
waits for the rain to stop—they’ve gone older—old but still kids. That dog that
has gone now, or found his way home. That girl he used to see on passenger’s
seats. That boy he used to talk to on occasions, the strangers familiar to him,
disappearing in between.
And
the sky; he always looks up at the sky.
He
clicks to the next picture and asks himself: where have you been? Digging through the pictures, he knows he’s
finally got out of a fleeting four-year relationshit. The few next clicks
update him of people finally graduating from college; their smiles bend trying
to reach their ears, eyes focused on the camera, powder digs their skin. And he
has to admit: they look better. He notices they’re way successful than
him—achieved more—been into places he may possibly never see personally. Every
picture reminds him of the distance between them. Despite they live on the same
time zones, they don’t see each other anymore.
The
funny thing is, pictures that don’t even last a second can bring so much.
Memory preserved in a mere flick and a shutter. But, pictures are just knives
pointed against your skin enough to tickle, and push enough it will hurt.
He sees so much of these pictures;
they tell so much: friendships that turn to relationships, reunions and drives
out of town; people on departure, people going back.
And
of all the pictures, everyone smiles. But of all the pictures, everyone’s
there, except him.
Yet,
he smiles.
