Red Eyes

I miss disposable cameras.  Nowadays everyone has a cellphone that takes perfect pictures every time.  There’s no quirk to them.  A snapshot in time to file away.  Too perfect to be any good.  Not like the old disposable cameras.

My favorite picture of you was taken with one of those cameras.  You were sitting on the couch in, what was it?  It wasn’t a night gown, you’re too young for one of those.  Only old matronly women wear those, not you.  It was like a long t-shirt.  It was made long, just long enough to not be long enough.

You were sitting on the couch in that long t-shirt.  It had ridden up your thighs though and was showing every inch of every part of your leg that existed.  Damn you’ve got some long legs.  Perfect legs.  I worshiped those legs.

You were laying on the couch with your legs pulled up and all of your skin was showing from underneath that shirt.  The flash caught your blue eyes and made your eyes red.  Your blonde hair was messy and it looked the best it ever had, even more than when you spent hours on it.  But I mostly remember those red eyes.  The way you stared into my soul through those red eyes.

I still have a roll of film of you and I together that I haven’t developed yet.  I hope to see some of those red eyes when I finally do.

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