The photographer was a chemist

By Cymarel
The photographer was a chemist.
I was 16 and still a virgin.
Life was simple, black and white,
and no room was big enough.
Small enough.

I have grown.
With one perpetual truth,
my thoughts make a really good movie but my life is just plain reality.
I’ve lived. I’ve left behind.
I keep making up theories that define the laws of my life, and I’m a lousy judge.
I keep letting myself walk free, feeling guilty.
Every time more immune to those contagious feelings of happiness and love.
And life goes on like this text, and you wonder if you should stop writing.

If only we could live again.
It would be like writing a different story, and then going back to fix the commas and the syntax problems.
The photographer would have gone digital and I would have lost my virginity but my heart would be intact.
Every time.
Eager to be broken again, and maybe one day, not broken,
just satisfied.
 

5 comments so far.

  1. Nefi 10:36 a. m.
    The pencil with which one writes our life it doesn't contain a eraser... perhaps the life is written with indelible ink.

    A hug, thank you to write.
  2. *Lin* 2:09 p. m.
    oye me llego la ultima frase:
    "Eager to be broken again, and maybe one day, not broken,
    just satisfied"

    Chanfles, cuanta verdad!! que mal que ya las comas de la historia no se pueden arreglar... quien se llevo el borrador!!!?!?!
  3. Ayi 2:08 p. m.
    "Every time more immune to those contagious feelings of happiness and love."..

    Me llevo esta frase... y me arranca de raiz este escrito..
  4. Gina E. Nin V. 10:24 p. m.
    No way to describe how touched i was by your words.. as usual.

    *sigh*

    G!
  5. Filomena 9:47 a. m.
    "my thoughts make a really good movie but my life is just plain reality"

    Been there, done that

Something to say?