Why do You Photograph Me So Much?

In the quiet corners of memory
where sepia tones blend with whispers.
I find the echoes of your gaze
a thousand stolen moments
captured in the lens of your intent.

Why do you photograph me so much?
Is it to freeze time, to defy its cruel march
or perhaps to weave a tapestry of longing,
each frame a thread connecting our souls?

You caught me unaware, mid-laughter,
sunlight dancing on my skin
and I wondered if you saw the universe
reflected in my eyes.
Constellations that mapped out
our shared secrets.

Do you immortalize my imperfections,
the tears scattered like stardust,
the curve of my lips
as they whispered secrets into the wind?
Or is it my vulnerability,
etched forever in water and light?

In crowded streets and empty rooms
you wielded your camera like a magician
conjuring memories from thin air.

And I, the unwitting muse,
spun in your orbit,
a comet trailing fire.

Perhaps you sought to unravel me
to decode the mystery of my existence.
To trace the lines of my story
across the canvas of your film.

Or maybe you were simply intoxicated
by the alchemy of creation,
the way a click can build universes.

Why do you photograph me so much?
I’ll never know but I carry your snapshots
like secrets tucked into my heart,
each image a breadcrumb leading
me back to the moments
when we danced between reality and dreams.

And when the world fades to grayscale,
when memory blurs the edges of time,
I’ll still hear the shutter’s whisper, and I’ll smile,
knowing that somewhere, in the folds of eternity,
we exist captured in a forever frame.