Snapshot

In the viewfinder, she's far away even when she's with me. I hate cameras. They make everything seem so small and distant. Almost unimportant. But then again, it all is so very unimportant. Insignificant. I'm just me, she's just her, and whether or not she's mine will have no bearing on anything significant.

It's just a flash. A picture. A paper. We die, it fades, and none of it mattered. The world is too big, the universe is too vast. It all takes just a split second. Like a flashbulb. It's over before we know it and we're cast into the vast recesses of Death.

I know all of this. It weighs on me, dragging me down to the lowest depths of myself, like a anchor, keeping me firmly rooted in bleak realism. And yet her eyes softly gaze into mine, and mine melt into hers, and suddenly, I don't worry anymore.

I'm not here to seek the approval of a cruel world or an uncaring universe. If the forces of the universe refuse to feel obligated to my existence, then I will exist in spite of them. I exist and she exists and I love her.

I take the picture.