It's like peering out from a tall peak with 360 degree views, but only being able to see 200 degrees of it. Something blurs or darkens past a certain point. And once we turn the view inward, there is no sight. Only sound and sensation and thought. We're blind. Like cave fish. Transparent and fragile.
There's something about turning a lens on yourself that is addicting. A sight I've craved and can't trust to mirrors is captured for me at last. Specific to the things I've wanted to see, but couldn't trust to another's eye to capture. I study them like it's a stranger. Someone I've never seen before. I discover things about my image that I never knew. Something else in each photo. I feel like the ultimate fool to not have known myself for so long. I feel like I have to chart every territory. Mark every spot as having been seen. "M.L. was here," scrawled across the small of my back where I can not reach.
Maybe I'm just a narcissist. I wouldn't argue if you called me that. But I'd also ask you why it was particularly bad to be narcissistic. Narcissus had a problem with moderation, not being self-absorbed.
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