Uncaptured

Adjusting the lens – adjusting some more. This picture has to be perfect. I worked really hard to land a job in this studio. I don't want one picture to go wrong. She goes to the girl sitting on the stool,fixates her fingers on either side of her face, and tilts slightly to the right.

Behind her camera, she peeps through the lens. “ You guys look great, now look into each others' eyes and smile.” Click. Flash. The three of them are happy. A moment of happiness has been captured. Time has been enframed ,in this picture,forever.

In the small waiting area in the studio, she waits for other customers to show up. A smile appears on her face as though it doesn't belong to her. She thinks of how ironic her job is,considering. People come here on their official bad hair day, with bushy eyebrows and custard yellow teeth wanting their picture taken. A good one that is. And she still manages to do it.

She sits them down, makes small talk, makes them smile and then takes their picture. She later looks at the pictures and thinks they could've at least taken a shower before they came in. Despite all, she patiently edits, she patiently breathes in and out , until the pictures are exactly how she wants them. If it isn't perfection in the picture,then at least happiness is. She stares into the mirror across from her, and witnesses tears of guilt stream down her face. Strangers. I do this for pure strangers.

She opens the door to her apartment,it's dead quiet. They're probably on the roof or something. She notices the furniture in the reception has been moved around, and the vases and antiques are randomly placed on the tables. She then remembers her mom was talking about sprucing it up a bit. Joy does need to be let back in the house- or they could at least try. She also remembers that she isn't the least bit interested in helping her mom.

One week later, the reception looks as if it has been truly-renovated. Carpets cleaned,furniture polished, all sorts of antiques and souvenirs tastefully- placed on the tables. The walls in the house were never plain though ; the old paintings were removed and new ones were hung instead. Yet, with no familiar faces within the frames,nothing has really changed.

Figured Out

Back to the mirror. Tucked shirt,pressed pants. He turns around, making sure his freshly-grown abs are showing - they are. He closes his eyes,imagining what it would be like - to date again. He crosses his fingers,sprays his Paco Rabanne and leaves the room. Just as he is about to leave the house, he takes a second glance at himself in the mirror by the door; he admires his newly-done eyebrows. Close up,his admiration drops to a doubt. But it's too late - he thinks to himself, I wanted to get them done, and I did.

Ten years ago when he was first contemplating the idea, he was actually repulsed by it. I have yet more to discover about myself ,his subconscious would tell him.But in the light of day, he had to convince himself that he is all figured out.

Driving his car, he listens to the romantic songs on his ipod. One song after the other ; one tear after another. I can't relate to any of these songs. I have experienced love before, just not the type they seem to be singing about.

He closes his eyes for a second, just to push the negative thoughts back in his head. Tonight is a good night because I'm going to meet the one person who in a very long time has made me feel really good about myself.

He steps into the downtown bar. Loud. Hot. Crowded. He sees a sea of faces - male faces. He takes another quick look until his eyes finally meet his date's. They exchange smiles. He walks downstairs, walks up to him and the moment he shakes his hands he knows he is wrong. Again.

Oblivious

  Back arched. Water running down her bronze skin. Wet crystals surf up and down until they hit the bathtub. Her beautiful curves stand obvious to any female-interested eye. Massaging her scalp, she enjoys the water teasing her perfectly hanging breasts-thinking she has come a long way. Water slopes down her back , goes up a perfect half-circle, and finally streams along her thighs. Flawless drops. Flawed skin. And only she knows.

  She steps out of the the bathtub, wraps a towel around her and then examines herself in the mirror. The towel drops to the floor. She can see her head-to-toe reflection,unfortunately. She takes a step closer to the mirror,hoping her imperfections would-miraculously- disappear if she looked closely at them. She is one step closer to the mirror. They're still there. They always will be.

  She remembers how she felt with water surrounding her body : alive. With every drop caressing her skin, she felt worth touching. With every drop teasing a body part,she felt feminine. The water didn't care. It understood she was human. She can't be perfect. Will the man of her dreams ever be that oblivious ?