She came today. And left.
She collected her things and we talked. What else?
I picked up my camera. That's what else.
For some sick messed up reason I picked up that camera and snapped away as we discussed why she was breaking my heart, as if I had some sickening urge to document the death of one of the most important relationships in my life thus far.

Why did I do it? I don't know. The fact that I put them up on DeviantArt only adds to the twistedness. And now the look on her face is forever immortalised in those pictures, eating away at me every time I see them. There are no models here, no actors. These expressions are not faked, the emotion is not false. It's ironic because I've always wanted the look of real emotions in my photography, and I found it in the demise of my own romance.


My god, I love her.

And I hate myself for it.