New Flames

Mar 27, 2017

It has been a while since I had a story in my heart. All the boys I've kissed no longer inspire me to write words, nor take pictures. The thing is, from what I have learned, that once you do things over and over again it loses its spark. In my past life back home or when I was traveling, all my hook ups gave me something to write — from the way they smelled, or the way they kissed, or the way they made no sense, or the way sex was bad — but now there's nothing left to write. Where the kisses start, my words end in an instant. They became a mere means to an end.

I also knew I had to stop finding boys to flesh out stories from like a predator to a prey.

Finding C in a sea of creatives one night at an art fair in this new city was a relief. A breath of fresh air from the suffocating artness of my art world. It was during that same night that I fueled my passion to take more photos of real people during real moments; their portraits reflect me in the same way a mirror reflects a light on a surface. I found myself smiling in the corner of the neon-lit rooftop where we were in, happy to have met new strangers.

My boss often tells me, "do whatever keeps you sane." I do it, every time I go out of our studio, after the crazy long hours. I go out and fill in some voids with whatever it is that I do to keep the flames burning.

"To new flames," I silently said to myself as I light a cigarette before handing a stick to A.

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