𝑆𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑃𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐺ℎ𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑜.

𝑃𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒

"...take a photo of me now."

What am I? I will never truly know how I look to others because I'm not others. Mirrors may help but I believe it's only a reflection of how I want to look. Or maybe a little bit of it.
I always look different in pictures. Maybe because the only ones my parents have are when I was really little. Will I always have photos of the past even if I take one right now?
But what is now? For only this second in time. Because I take a photo of myself and all I will have is another image from the past. Who knows? I might face a terrible injury that changes how I look forever. Then whenever I look at the 'now' image and say "that was before the injury." So it was past tense.
But even when I don't get hurt I could say "I took this photo of me about an hour ago." And that would be the past. Nothing has changed but time. Maybe clothes if needed. Or maybe my hair—I wear a nice Afro. My mom pics it out every morning. Even when it's not a school day.
And my dad takes me to go get a fix-up so I don't go out looking 'like they don't love me.'
But that's besides the point. But what's the point? I'm just talking. I find myself doing that a lot. But only in my head. Because I do want people to not like me. But that's out of my control.
Try to not take my word on things. Am I saying don't trust me? Maybe so. But never trust any narrator. Because nobody will ever truly know anything enough to tell it to you. But maybe then all books will be the same. And hearing everything you'd need to know may turn out to be a whole lot of nothing. Topics you will never care about being explained-given out to the world in hopes that someone out there could feel how they felt.
But it's more of a "you had to be there" situation. But you could never be there. It's past. Even if you were you'd never feel what I felt.
So take a photo of me now. Before I die and fade away.