There's no other way to describe the feeing you get when you take a beautiful picture. That one significant still in time that made your heart flutter every time you look at it. You press the button and grab the picture; it's of your favourite as of this moment.
It's the house in front of you, a broken, rusted broken down house that's been sitting in the same spot for the last twenty years. It sits back a few blocks from your house, past a beaten up fence and a rugged looking shrub. You come here every afternoon, after the homework and chores and just before the sun cracks through the tall trees.
Your camera bounces against your chest as you dart towards the house, hands moving past your body as full speed. The wind making your cheeks red and flushed, but you don't care.
There's a little worn out wooden seat on the porch of the house, cob webs above and around it but not on it. You tuck your left leg under you and sit down. The rest of the porch has brown vines and more cobwebs, as well as a few split pieces of wood.
It may seem like such a drab place to be to anyone, but to you, it's your place to escape away from the chaotic surges of your life. Without thinking you grab a cigarette out of your pocket, followed by a lighter.
Leaning your head back on the wooden seat you take a long drag of the paper and exhale generously, smiling softly. You know it probably isn't a good thing to be alone with yourself for too long, thinking about anything and everything.
Taking a long inhale you blow out and run your hand through your short brown hair. Where did things stop and start to get chaotic? No wonder you no longer have close friends, they leave, they don't care, but now, neither do you.
The sun is down now, just the afterglow of the semi-bruised clouds left behind. You are trapped; you've always known you are. Like a cocoon that you can't break out of, there is no butterfly at the end of this, just a continued dark space.
Placing the cigarette to your red lips you inhale and close your mouth, letting the smoke linger before it escapes through your lips once more. Looking up you see a little, tiny spider sitting on the edge of the banister, thinking quick you grab your camera and take a picture, grabbing the still wet Polaroid, shaking it vigorously.
You miss everything. That's for sure. You let your guard down and exposed yourself, but to the wrong people at the wrong time. You let them in, without knowing that they would abandon you. There were a few though; a few beautiful wonderful, amazing people that were there for you. One with glorious brown eyes and a mind set hard on the future and goals, her voice quiet and soft. Another one with soft blonde hair and lips ready to belt out her favourite words, others with short laughs and streaked hair.
No matter how hard they try to crack the shell, you won't let them in. You have, a little, but not fully. You don't think you will ever let anyone into your little cocoon, who knows how hard and fast they will leave. Because yes, they always do.
You get blamed, a lot. You cry, a lot. But no one knows why, not even you do.
One more long drag and your heart is beating a little faster. You want someone with you, anyone, just to be able to look over and see someone staring back, love in their eyes and admiration on their minds.
Picking up the camera you place it above your head, the strap dangling down in front. The black lens is intimidating, staring back at you, but not with love or admiration. All it wants is a black and white portrait to be able to look at over and over.
Not looking at the photo you place it down on the ground, wiping away the stray tear on your cheek. Flicking the cigarette ash onto the ground you let the warm tears cover your face, not even stopping the heart wrenching sob that breaks through your lips.
Not bothering to wipe away the salty mess on your face, you stand up and grab the camera, circling the strap around your neck. You can feel the wetness on your neck, staining your skin.
One last look back at the house you walk forward, mind completely rattled with thoughts and clouded visions. You continue to let your feet drive you forward, letting the cigarette fall out of your hands and onto the ground. The same tears blurring your eyes.
This is all you will ever be, all this and nothing else, just a fallen cigarette and a blank Polaroid, waiting for someone to come and save you, to come and save you soon.