Live Photo

You smiled by accident. I caught it on camera. For a split second, your facial muscles forgot about their unloveable-mask fate and moved in grace. Each corner of your mouth reached for its sibling ear, top and bottom lashes dovetailed, and two little holes appeared in your cheeks, like the turn in a magic show: The audience in awe, your joy is definitely cuter than any top hat rabbit. 

Maybe your tyrant had a hiccup, maybe you were just so tired from searching. I had seen you smiling before, but this time was different, you meant it without knowing. You let it out like a careless sigh. My finger on the shutter button–too late. Your smile inside my phone. But wait, there is no smile in the picture I’m looking at now, not a single dimple in my camera roll. You were so fast hiding it that if it wasn’t for the advent of live photos I’d think I imagined it all. 

Now I see, as I press the screen in this technological ritual. You look in my direction. Between us are my device, and a myriad of misunderstandings and cravings. The air is so thick that your image can barely make it through the glass of the lens. I’m holding your secret, in my hands, in my eyes, with the certainty that it really happened. With the delight of a selfless parent witnessing their child's excitement. My ambition to see you smiling, painting bliss on your façade. 

I pray from outside your courtyard, for your sad guards to fall asleep. Attentive, I look for the evidence: inside you, there is still a place where ease and sweetness come.