‘The scent of a fruit faintly filled the air from the smoke radiating from the end of a lit blunt, its contents being passed from one pair of hands to the next as the sound of a soft exhale gave way to the silence in the room lit in red. Its aura was apparent to the two within the room; soft, gentle, passionate. As the sound of clicking from a camera now radiated in the ears only to stop when the blunt was passed back to a pair of dainty fingers.

"do you love me from behind the lens?"

"of course."

"truly do you love me or..What do you feel you see me as?"

The voice was hush and soft but held a bit of a worn-out tone to it, as if it had been cursed by nights of endless thoughts of sorrow and self pity, plague by the illness of insomnia and ruined by a cold air steadily building outside long hair that cascaded down to shoulders was painted a dark red as if it were blood in it natural state, wet at it end that clung to a body covered by clothing as thin as stockings but as loose as air hugged his body no better than a child wearing bigger clothing. a symbol of lust as he simply placed the blunt to his mouth and smoked. he  held this aura one that could never be described no matter how many times it was experienced..

"do you not see me as the same? What do you choose to see me as? what you feel I am but not what reality tells you, tell me? Is it love or lust?"

Her voice was like honey le, sweet and soft to its touch, eyes laid on her as he watched red light illuminated minor features; her lashes, her lips, the way her eyes held this stare when she was high it was almost like she saw through you, like she had seen who you are when she could barely see herself in her own eyes.

"perhaps both, what is the difference between lust and love, they are one and the same simply two words that mean the same thing from love breeds lust from lust breeds the other, for you it's a mystery somehow, on long nights where I can't sleep I dream about you, I see you where I shouldn't and never where I should, you tangled your vines around my heart and it rips me on the inside, your lips and the gloss you wear. The way your skin feels, the way you make me feel I can not label it as love nor can I label it lust; a mixture of both and an obsession with you" each word laid a new step towards the couch she sat on her camera lens became her eyes as thin passion filled fingers touched her face and what looked at her was a man, a feeling, a beautiful ethereal creature.’

She found herself wondering, why couldn't she bring herself from her bed, her thoughts raddled her mind back and forth as her thoughts wondered as the pitter-patter of a sweet night rain took hold as a feeling against the album Morrison hotel that played in the background. She felt..... Empty. A need to bleed, a need to live. Eyes stared at the ceiling and soon fell on view of the city, flashes of traffic lights and headlights from cars ever so lightly illuminating the room it was comforting to the voice of the door's lead singer, Jim Morrison. The soothing sound of the music felt like a hug, something that made the night feel less that she felt it was. a escape, an endless cycle. And with these thoughts she finally rose out of bed to set up her camera, tying her robe tight and began to speak the rest of the night staring into the face of a lens. eyes holding so much pain, so much emptiness and want. So much need and envy, what was she missing, who was she missing? Each click of the camera only captures more to her soul, what she truly wanted to say... what she needed.