Reflected In That Lense

Through Your Eyes (Written February 6, 2019)

The world I see is the world I see,
And that is not something that I can change.
I might adjust how I’m looking to try to see more,
But to see through my own eyes is nothing strange.

Or so I always thought, until now I suppose,
When I see your eyes are turned towards me,
When those lenses of yours are flashing my way
I can’t help but wonder what it is you see.

All the sudden I want to see through your eyes,
Want to see how you saw, see the pictures you took.
Though I’ve never cared what others think,
To you I wonder, how do I look?

___

I’ve been looking through my old college stuff, recently, after some high schoolers asked me a bunch about my time there. I’ve been thinking a lot about how life was, then, and the people who were there. This, of course, led to me looking through all my old photos from college.

I have an awful lot of photos from college.

You see, I was the primary photographer. Flip through the yearbooks from when I was there and you will find that almost every single photo was taken by me. And then every other photo was taken by him.

We were friends, even if we didn’t know each other very well. We didn’t talk too terribly much. Mostly we played volleyball. We’d enjoy each other’s company after meals, sitting around drinking coffee and eating fruit. And fighting over fruit.

And we took pictures.

Of everything. Of our classmates, of the campus, of food, and classes, and teachers, and sports. We took pictures while we walked to classes, while we lay in the grass, while we sat around playing chess. Where either of us was there were sure to be pictures taken.

It was our game to take pictures of each other. Me, because I enjoy taking pictures of people I like; him, because I said it was impossible to get a good picture of me (I was right, by the way). And every now and then we would be taking pictures at the same time, and we’d laugh, taking pictures of each other taking pictures. I look at those pictures of him taking my picture and it makes me so happy. And also…fluttery? I know how I feel when I see pictures I took of him. And when I see him taking my picture I wonder, what was he seeing? It’s not just that I wish I knew how those pictures look (I do, and I’ve never seen any of them), I want to know what he was thinking and feeling when he took that picture.

I’ve never felt like this before, and it is all a bit bittersweet. I no longer have the opportunity to ask him what he was thinking or seeing, and I’ll probably never get to see those pictures he took of me. And I feel like he took a piece of me away with him and I’ll never get it back.

Maybe having your picture taken really does steal away a piece of your life.

THANK YOU FOR READING! PLEASE RATE AND REPLY!

P.S.- the picture is, indeed, part of a picture of him taking a picture of me.

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