Blog Self-Preservation

Andres Orozco Chavez Photography x The Narrative’s Fade


00We probably shouldn’t talk,
’cause talking leads to thinking and
eyes wide open blank in the dark.

We probably shouldn’t think,
cause thinking leads to questioning and
circles you right back to the start.

The sky is finally clear since I last saw you. You were unfair, there are so many questions on my mind and you left them all unanswered. I wanted so bad to ask you how it felt like to be free, how it felt like to love me and to forgive me, and why, for so many years, you’ve been trapped in this ugly little town full of judgmental people. 

We were never a good pair, are we? You and Me. Me and You. It sounds off. You told me once that you fell in love with my carefree soul, and I wanted to laugh so hard maybe because it has the word “Free”, and you surely know how expensive it is to be with me. I raised my eyebrow when you said you didn’t mind even though people pay me to pacify their pleasures and lust.

You do frustrate me sometimes, you little shit. I grew up believing that I need to sell my soul to please everybody, and here you are, telling me how happy you are to simply be with me and feel my presence.

* * *


But everything used to make sense,
We’re testing it in our own strength, oh no

If we don’t leave now, we will break
We will falter, we will fade
If we don’t leave now, we will harm,
We’ll regret what we’ve done to ourselves

Why are you so stubborn, Sweetheart? I told you not to mention anything to anyone but you betrayed me. Of all people, you’re the one who should know what I am to their eyes and the kind of omen I bring. I am not accepted here, let alone our love affair. But who am I to complain? you’re the only one who made me feel less than a garbage. 

The moment I told you to stop, you held my hand and pulled me in your arms, and I swear, I cried my whole being that night. I wanted so bad to break away from all these, to run away as fast as I could before I hurt you. I’m used to being the broken glass. You could break me easily and I wouldn’t mind. I never thought that this time around, though, you let me be the brick. And it’s just too much love I can’t handle.

* * *


I probably shouldn’t wish,
But your breath on my skin,
It’s like the cold that’s traveling down from the vents above our heads

And drinking is no excuse,
It’s an easy one to use, 
When lack of self control has left you making poor decisions for yourself

 I remember that December night pretty well. You were out with your friends, drinking and having the time of your life. Up until now, I want to tell you how sorry I am, to cradle you and tell you that I’m still the same woman you love, and I will always be.

It was a cruel night, you opened the door and we are as shocked as you were. I warned you before, didn’t I? That this time will come, that all of the ends will meet and everything that we ever built will fall back into the abyss. Like the ashes that you scattered when your mother died. I have no idea that this will be the end, our end, your end. And I want you to know – Even if it’s too late – that I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I didn’t mean to cut you this bad.

I loved your father before I even met you. And my life with him is composed of scraps and pieces of your family, of scars and disasters, and infidelity, of never-ending running and chasing. In my womb is his flesh and blood, your flesh and blood.

God, I loved your father before I met you.

* * *

15oh, ah, oh, what have I done, what have I done
oh, ah, oh I’ve gone and hurt the one I love

Wasn’t it cold, my love? When you ran out of your own house’s door that night, away from us, away from the truth? In the pouring rain, when you go to the beach, wasn’t it a little sad? And I would’ve blamed myself forever for not following you out in the dark. I called your name twice, do you remember? You never looked at me.

I wish you did.

You put the weight of our betrayal on your feet, and slowly walked toward the deepest part of the ocean. You loved it there, don’t you?

You never even bothered to come back.

* * *

Because The Thought-provoking Photos from Vegas x The 1975’s Robbers is a whooping success, here’s another photo-music story for all of you guys. The Narrative is one of my favorite indie bands nowadays, and I bumped upon Chavez’s stunning photos somewhere in tumblr. I’m currently reading Anita Shreve’s The Pilot’s Wife and I’m deeply disturbed as well as moved by the story, thus, making it my inspiration for this piece.

I hope you liked it, though. If you do, check out my other literary works.

Anyway, here’s The Narrative’s Fade:

Photos are from Andres Orozco Chavez, music and lyrics from The Narrative

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