I started a project earlier last year, as soon as I turned 21, to take a picture of myself everyday for a year to capture every mood, hair style, and skin status—all with the same pose (is this a pose?). I wanted to see the “emotion” that unconsciously shows on my face throughout a school semester, after surgeries, arguments, work, parties, etc.
I stopped earlier this year because I felt I was being vain. That and I started seeing minute flaws on my face the more I looked at it and was reminded of whatever events happened on that particular day.
Today I was tired because I did not sleep, but that is every single day. The ripples under my eyes are my best features.
Forget me not.
Forget me now.
I find myself reflecting on a past love when I look into new eyes, hear new voices, and feel new skin.
I find myself laughing at my own reflection for every single god damn fucking post dedicated to someone who left me. I wonder if a sense of superiority and success is obtained from those who remove others from their lives—for good reason—as opposed to those who are removed. Is there a feeling of regret? Or missing what became consistent and the norm; to miss an idea and not the person.
Laugh at me.
I am a miserable and bitter bitch.
This is another post about you.
Someone once told me that beauty marks indicated places to kiss.
Unmentioned
Overcome with a desire to mend a severed connection, you refresh and sift through a dormant page in hopes of renewing now archived memories that have begun to collect dust. There is a void in my heart, a void in my being, where you abruptly left. I have failed to find a substitute—a filler of a sort—but my quest was redundant and only left me digging deeper into my own grave. I, instead, like you I assume, surrounded myself with better people and better things. To keep us in a better mood.
Am I the broken one? Or are you?
A lone unnamed message lays within the box. It was but a bout of sadness that triggered you to hit send. Impatience or not, genuine or not, words are but only words after all. You do not miss. You are only reflecting on a passing breeze of a memory.
