My Hidden Lives // Prose / Projects

24. the unbearable lightness of being in love with a ghost

I drew a lot of the inspiration for this particular series of photographs from my old journals. I used to jot down a few phrases or thoughts every day when I was younger (now, it’s more like never-ending monologues on screen) and a lot of them were about the people I’d met along the way – my characters, as I called them. I rarely mentioned their actual names in these notebooks, rather they were always sort of archetypal and drawn into caricatures of the real people behind the names. So if I had to say who this particular series is about, I’d be lying if I mentioned a name. Hence, the Ghost.

It’s also the idea of a person – maybe someone you’ve never met, someone you only saw from afar and constructed your world around. Because a lot of the time, it’s easier to be in love with shadows. Flesh is messy. Thinking of people three-dimensionally can hurt. To make life less complicated, I deal with monochrome, with blacks and whites. Sometimes grays. I construct two categories for each love affair, each memory, and put them safely in a box. The light, the unbearable.

This is the black and white version of the photos, as I’d originally imagined for the series but I’ll be putting up a color version later as well because I like to do everything in two’s. : )

~ The Light ~

When the night is frightening, my monster keeps the others at bay.

When the night is frightening, my monster keeps the others at bay.

Our togetherness in the mornings, while I'm still a ghost as well.

Our togetherness in the mornings, while I’m still a ghost as well.

Wherever I go, I am always there.

Wherever I go, I am always there.

My lover's dance card is never full.

My lover’s dance card is never full.

Touching can hurt.

Touching can hurt.

*

~ The Unbearable ~

Not to see, and still believe.

Not to see, and still believe.

His love is intangible, but (my) pain is not.

His love is intangible, but (my) pain is not.

Glimpses of the dream transform days into nightmares.

Glimpses of the dream transform days into nightmares.

I invented his scent, now it follows behind.

I invented his scent, now it follows behind.

Waiting for what I don't ever want to come.

Waiting for what I don’t ever want to come.

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