brooklyn heights, fall 2018 with @umryusol | bgm.
“ugh. sol, i said don’t look– it looks staged when you know the lens is on you.”
he maunders with half his gaze through the viewfinder, dropping his camera down to focus in on her with his eyes instead. he sees her practically every other day (seldom every other two days if busy,) yet every time he takes her in, it’s as if he’s handed a new ring of flowers. every angle of hers in different days, under a different weather with unseen expressions (the way her nose crinkles every time, aside–): all untouched yet dear.
today, she’s a windflower.
“yeah, but i can tell when you’re taking pictures of me!” “maybe stop paying so much attention to me, then?”
he imitates her huffy stomp on the red maple leaves, sidewalk wet from past night’s rainstorm. it doesn’t take long before they both snort their way into bursts of laughter, hands on their stomach and mindless of other passerby making way around the two. my stomach hurts, he fusses through the small puddles in the cracks before making his way over to her, whisking away the messy strands of her hair stuck to her cheek. a pursed laugh-turned-smile on his lips holds of the distance between them.
they don’t understand.
“don’t catch a cold, what if you spread that in the kitchen?” “your way of worrying is dishonest, aiden.”
he shrugs.
let’s go grab a coffee or something before we head back, so you don’t sneeze through our kisses. he gestures for her to take her steps beside him, her hand now in the pocket of his jacket.
the warmth never lies, but they both do.
(they don’t understand.)
