Photographs are memories, they say.
In that case, there are thousands of them spilling from my drawer, my albums, my mind. A thousand memories coated with ethereal smiles, tears and the combined feeling of floating yet falling that only love can bring. The memories flood every inch of my room. Up the walls, inside doors, tacked to the headboard. Heck they even glow on the windowpane.
A lifetime fit within a thousand frozen frames.
And I collect this lifetime in a cardboard box. The box that I will throw into the bonfire tonight.
Because the thousand memories do not matter.
They were all frozen. And beyond recovery.
As the flames lick greedily at the huge chunk of memories, the camera flashes.
The lethal flames warm my chilled bones.
The lifetimes that are meant to last are lived outside a four sided limitation; those memories that cannot be counted.
Those memories that would never spill out, the ones cassetted away in one part of your head to replay over and over as you journey through life.
Those are the memories I wish to create.
Without a glance at the just formed Polaroid in my palm, I toss it into the fire.
As it melts in the heat, I walk away.
It’s time I create infinity for myself.