I know that the world doesn't revolve around me.
I am just a speck of dust, on a big spinning rock, circling a burning star.
I find beauty in the mundane just like everybody else.
But I am the center of my own universe. Just like you are the center of yours.
I see. I feel. I hurt.
I experience through a lense that is uniquely my own and yes, that lense has cracks and blurred edges that casts an unsettling glow, but that's what makes the pictures mine.
Little Polaroids that capture every flickering image, every dark corner and falter in my step.
I know that the world doesn't revolve around me, but the pictures I take are worth more than the words that spill from my lips.
I cannot share these pictures with you.
Even if I could you wouldn't understand them.
Your lense is chipped in a different way.
Your pictures are works of art. You could hang them in galleries and be praised over and over again and maybe I could do that too.
If I was brave enough to show you the flaws of my work.
If I was willing to share with you all the ways that this universe is mine.
But I am too small for my pictures to mean anything to the world.
I know my words aren't enough to make you hear me.
I am swallowed up by my own existence.
I drown in the noise that I created.
My lense distorts again and with a final click, the shutter let's the light of the world into my universe once more.
YOU ARE READING
The diary of Seth Alexander
Non-Fictionas the title suggests, this is legit going to be my diary. and yes, most diaries are supposed to be secret, but I have always been an open book. I like to pretend to be mysterious, but the people around me will all tell you that I am am someone who...
