Life Could Be A Dream

The Photographer

He was a great photographer. Those long limbs worked in his favor. I could have stared at him taking pictures all day, I would have stared at him taking pictures all day. When we got paired up for a group assignment I got to take photos of him and nature. He'd crouch down to get a picture of me looking like a giantess, or get me in line with a flower so it looked like the flower was bigger than me. True unadulterated talent. Have I mentioned how attractive I found him, and continue to find him. Don't laugh but he is a stick, less so now, he is much more of a man now. He has a beautiful rarely seen smile, and these bright little eyes that crinkle up when he thinks of something amusing. He moves rapidly and slyly and always with purpose. His laugh is all at once deep and airy and his voice is will to me it is indescribable. Just thinking of it calms me down when I'm sad, actually hearing it makes my bad days melt away. Hell a text from him makes my bad days melt away. He has such a hold on me. There are other good moments then the photography project lost to my memory now since I spent too long obsessing over the bad. Obsessing over June 6th. On June 6th, 2016 around 12 am my Grandfather (Pop-Pop) died. I was lying in his bed on the second floor of my grandparent's house staring at my reflection in their wall to wall closet mirrors. My Aunt ran up and told me had passed away. I remember crumbling up in a ball and thinking rather morbidly that my reflection in the mirror would make a good drawing. I always admired raw emotion in artwork. Needless to say, I did not sleep much that day. It was the day I thought I'd see him for the last time ever. My last day of technical school, only a few months removed from my move to an entirely new locale. I came apart in his arms right in front of a bus full of all my classmates. I told him my Grandpa died and that I might never see him again. The whole thing is immortalized in a Youtube video he made with the drawing assistance of an acquaintance.  Genuinely one of the worst days of my life. I broke down on the bus and cried when a friend who was mad at me for accidentally getting her in trouble wouldn't let me sit next to her. I kicked her book bag in my anger and sat down anyway. Give 'em something to whisper about, I was never going to see any of these people again except my good friends. It was all at once a weight removed and a tremendous bag of bricks added. I was never going to see him again and I only had one grandparent left. Would anything in my life remain the same for long?