You take my picture and I see through the camera I see through your soul You nudge me You take a deeper sigh And then there is subtlety I kiss you in return You run your fingers through my hair and I feel our souls collide I want to imitate a scene A scene from an unusual love story All love stories are unusual anyway Our glances are entwined into a memory A hint of light A tinge of lust I take your hand I rest my head on your shoulder And we stare into space You don't take my hand You leave me all alone I doubt you I despise you We go back We look back We turn back You close your eyes And I do too Without us knowing We cling into each other's arms We separate into each other's thoughts You are making it clear I am being obvious I wasn't looking for you You were waiting for me And you found me And I always go back to you We stop We start We begin We end I stutter Your stomach flutters And you make me feel what I want to see You make me see what I haven't felt For a long time Towards a lifetime You remind me and I bring you with me You want me Likewise You haunt me I am hoping Reciprocal You are wondering My mind is wandering Our present is all we have And then we rest our heads until the next morning We sleep We are awaken And then we dance At dusk We imagine life that's ours and there is only uncertainty I cry and you sigh I want you and like you and want you and like you And you do too And we don't worry Anymore And we don't hurry All the more We slide
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1 comments
citybuoy
said...
October 12, 2011 at 5:44 AM
Didn't our ancestors once believe that taking ones photograph would be tantamount to capturing their soul?
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You take my picture and I see through the camera I see through your soul You nudge me You take a deeper sigh And then there is subtlety I kiss you in return You run your fingers through my hair and I feel our souls collide I want to imitate a scene A scene from an unusual love story All love stories are unusual anyway Our glances are entwined into a memory A hint of light A tinge of lust I take your hand I rest my head on your shoulder And we stare into space You don't take my hand You leave me all alone I doubt you I despise you We go back We look back We turn back You close your eyes And I do too Without us knowing We cling into each other's arms We separate into each other's thoughts You are making it clear I am being obvious I wasn't looking for you You were waiting for me And you found me And I always go back to you We stop We start We begin We end I stutter Your stomach flutters And you make me feel what I want to see You make me see what I haven't felt For a long time Towards a lifetime You remind me and I bring you with me You want me Likewise You haunt me I am hoping Reciprocal You are wondering My mind is wandering Our present is all we have And then we rest our heads until the next morning We sleep We are awaken And then we dance At dusk We imagine life that's ours and there is only uncertainty I cry and you sigh I want you and like you and want you and like you And you do too And we don't worry Anymore And we don't hurry All the more We slide
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Born in the mid-80s, Erin Herøin is a marveller of non-sequitur writing, cinematic films, & analogue photography.
Before, she used to be an aspiring physician; now, she is a newbie bassist who has 5.50/5.00 eyes & black tattoos on her right arm.
She's the former chief editor of Lomography's international magazine, the founder of Whilst We Wait, & the author of Paranoirexia.
Today, she curates and directs Parallel Planets, an online publication on creatives worldwide.
She dwells in the Eastern border of Manila with her pet pussies.
Before, she used to be an aspiring physician; now, she is a newbie bassist who has 5.50/5.00 eyes & black tattoos on her right arm.
She's the former chief editor of Lomography's international magazine, the founder of Whilst We Wait, & the author of Paranoirexia.
Today, she curates and directs Parallel Planets, an online publication on creatives worldwide.
She dwells in the Eastern border of Manila with her pet pussies.
Didn't our ancestors once believe that taking ones photograph would be tantamount to capturing their soul?
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