Darkroom

You’ve my friend for five years. You’re a photographer with your own studio, yet not once did you ever invite me over. But for some reason, you did this time—and with a nervous heart, I made my way to your darkroom. There, I looked at the photos you’d taken of me… and I didn’t recognize myself. I looked so much better. Almost handsome. It made me wonder—is this how you see me? So I gathered my courage and asked: “Why do you treat me like I’m special?”