Polaroids || Muke au

p r o l o g u e

     you know the saying, "a picture is worth a thousand words,"?

     well it's wrong.

     a picture isn't worth a thousand words. a picture is worth a million, and so much more. it's worth one hundred memories and seventy-six late nights spent talking in bed and even a few spent crying on the kitchen floor leaning against the oven.

     my mother always said that a picture could transport you back in time; it would take you by the hand and lead you back, back, back into those memories long since faded and suddenly you'd be six years old again, crying because your sister ate the last of your gold fish crackers. or you'd be back at thirteen, sneering at the camera's flash with your shitty fringed haircut falling over your eyes. but it would only do that for you; because your memories belong solely to you and no one could relive a moment in quite the same way.

     and she was right, like mothers often are. as many hours spent curled up on the couch with photo albums has taught me. like there's one photo i have of him, and to any random friend or family member it would look like that one blond-haired blue-eyed boy who spent way too much time over at my house was a little too trigger happy when roasting marshmallows. but that was hardly the case when i looked at it.

     when i saw that polaroid of him, i was instantly transported back to the night of july 16th; his birthday. i remember the way he sat criss-cross in front of the fire, facing away from it because the smoke was getting into his eyes. i remember the way his lips tasted like burnt marshmallows and his hair smelled like wood fire. i especially remember how he became the unfortunate victim of his two-year-old niece's marshmallow-and-spit covered fingers. [it took an hour and a half to get the marshmallow off of his shirt, and even longer to get it out of his hair.]

     but no matter how many memories i relive, he's still gone.

     and i'm still crying.

     and the words he wrote were still ringing like a fire alarm in my head.

     and all i've got left are those stupid blurry polaroids. that's all i'll ever have.

✿✿✿

     as it turns out, the only chapter written in first person will be this one [the prologue] because writing in first person is rly hella uncomfortable for me.

     and anyway, my comfort zone has always been third person.

     but yeah, yay for clichè story titles and really lame 2am story ideas!!

     i really hope y'all are as excited for this as I am.

     stay golden.

     -rebekka