Under your lens

You took photos of me. I never quite understood that. Why? Why should I exist in your photographs? In a file somewhere I was yours and yours alone.

But, I could not be tamed, I was yours, once, and then I was gone. Existing in your memories, existing in your photographs, was this girl who once loved you, but no more. “I like this version of you.” I said. While lying on top of the white sheets white pillow white comforter. I was falling asleep, I talked in semi coherent ways, I was sure I had once felt something profound and magical.

He also liked to photograph me. He had a bulkier camera, with bigger lens, he had white sheets white pillows white comforter like you. He took rapid shots of me, and he kept them so he could look at them on his own, like you. He took photos of women he had been with, like you.

You came inside of me, then I wrapped my legs around your naked body, in your arms I was folded under and I fell asleep. I always fell asleep with you.

He wanted me to talk after. He said I was so girlie, I had a nice voice, he wanted me to talk, to tell him things. I was different, unlike others he’s met. So I told stories and then I said, “Promise not to fall in love with me.”

You asked about my latest adventure. He did too. You were the best sex I had ever had. But I needed more. More frequency, more variety. You were like me. I wanted you to be with other women. That was how I could fall out of love. To know you were never mine; therefore I could, then, be released from your hold.

You asked me, “Why, why do you want me to be with other women?” I said because it was good to have variety. But there was more; Knowing you were not mine, mine alone, allowed me to be released from the bond we once formed.

I once loved you. I was finally free.