Relativeness

You are a photographer. Not just one, but quiet a famous one. And you take me to your house to show me your collection of photos. I look at each in excitement. Excitement that wishes to hide away in eyes. You saw it? No?! My lips slightly apart, I am lost in your world of images.

Our minds converse with each other and I begin:

‘These aren’t pictures.’

‘Hmm..So what are these?’

‘Some are images of my thoughts.’

‘Is that all?’

‘And some…some are images of our relativeness.’

The more I am…

…open to you, the more I feel I am yours.

Maybe that is just for me.

Don’t make that face just because I am naked by the time you are on bed.

Goodnight!