the last picture.

by Matthew Burgos
by Matthew Burgos

Above the solemn waves of the sea, our boat settled into the shape of the waters. Our last afternoon for this travel and we still did not capture a concrete moment. I knew you had always hated printed photos, but I had always wanted to keep each strangled and panicked smile you carried in every image. I took out my Polaroid camera and, beside the kiss of the orange sun, I surprised you with a flash.

The camera made a whirring sound before it ejected a small print. I blew my cold breaths over the paper. I had my arm latched around your neck while beaming, but your round eyes and funny-angled lips gave spirit to the inanimate object. I ignored your huffs and hid it inside my pocket. I cradled your cheeks and smashed the unsated skins of our lips.

Before I woke up earlier, your body caved inside my waiting space and I filled these gaps with you; but as I breathed the morning winds, only a slight hint of your scent lingered. On the bedside table, you left a note. “I’ll be back.”

Two months after, the sunset glares with beauty. I light the cigarette stick hanging from my lips. The autumn leaves crunch against my black boots. Where are you?

The sun sinks with grace and my breaths become ragged. My anxiety heightens and I hold onto the rails beside me. I close my eyes to remember you; the ocean-like colors of your eyes, the echoes of your honey laughter and the burns of your grazes. When I open my eyes, the dark light wakes up. I pull out the last picture of us from my pocket.

The sunset has finally mellowed, dear. Come home now.


WORD COUNT: 290

Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.

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