The Thief

She said to strike a pose
and with a flash she stole my soul
captured on silver halide crystals
At least that's what I would have thought
if I lived in the noughts of the last century
But instead, she held captive a moment of time
the shirt I was wearing and the cut of my hair
bags under my eyes and a crack of a smile
From time to time she would look at it for a while
trying to figure out my thoughts and dreams
but it would seem that I still own my secrets
moving targets 
impossible to capture on film
the thief sits there in disbelief
as I move on to the next frame

This was a piece that I've been threatening to write for a while now.  It was an idea that I stole from someone else.  I don't actually remember the exact idea, but this was the idea that popped into my mind when she mentioned her idea.  Something about photography and crime.  Hahaha, when I write that out, I don't believe that was the idea at all.

It's funny how memories aren't something concrete, etched in stone.  Memories are a little more fluid.  And photographs are only a cheap imitation of reality.  They can only capture the light bouncing off objects, but they can't capture the intangibles, the emotions, the feelings.  Peace out.