Bullet Holes

"Why do you have the scar on your chest?"

'It's a long story'

"Well, I have time."

I have not been to a war, neither is my story about getting shot accidentally.
What i CAN tell you is that i listen to a lot of songs and i was listening to Lesley Gore. Look, its a simple and straightforward story, its about bubblewrap.

I heard it on the radio that bubblewrap is no more. The organization shut down. Made me think of when camera reels stopped. I knew, felt, thought that I would always have camera reels for my camera. But that gadget was dead after my stack ran out. The stack that i got in bulk to make my memory capturing gadget never run out. Run out of shutting its eyes and keeping those perfect moments for the dark room.

The dark room died. It became a dim lit room where we would have drinks and conversation. The conversations got over and we thought we were keeping in touch, but in reality we were just 1010101010101ing on each other.

Old habits do not die. Its true. They are always there somewhere, in some form or the other.

Its not my story of technology taking over, my apologies.

I was just unhappy about bubblewrap. The bubblewrap was protection for everything. It saved everything from breaking, provided comfort. Its like your mother tucking you in your bed even when you know that some nights are darker than others. Its your friend hugging you when you know you're wrong and truth is beyond apologies.

I ordered a pack of expensive cigarettes which are down to earth. Irony was not the point. I had had too much from the bottle and ADs on the internet turned me. Everyone can be blamed now. You can never be wrong. You always have a shoulder and your gun is somehow never the point. How can someone even try to begin and forgive own self?

Well the package arrived and to tell you the truth, it took me a while to pay. I was not in my senses. The bottle was hit hard and everything was a space Odyssey. Stumbling, I sat down and stared at the package for a long time. In normal circumstances, it would be ripped apart with excitement of whats inside. what was the point anymore?

There was.

It was bubble wrapped. I opened the pack of the expensive no toxins no carbs no emotional bullshit no crappy feely still cancerous for you pack of cigarettes and lit one. I lay on my back thinking about the dark room, and  about the photographs hanging and drying like clothes you washed. You expected that you soft hands will never let the color run, never let the white fade, never turn the black to grey. Something did happen. You did everything right. Nothing went wrong, except that it became better, brighter, glaring like the sun, like you have never seen before. And it all happened after the camera roll died. After the reel was over. After everything went daft punk.

I woke up smiling with acceptance only to realize that the expensive cigarette was over, between my fingers was the end and resting on my chest was a sizzling orange glow.

Left a mark.

Not everything that comes in bubblewrap is protected. Not every scar is a bullet hole.




"This was shit! You just wasted my time!"





'well...'




I got up and lit the expensive no toxins no carbs no emotional bullshit no crappy feely still cancerous for you cigarette. One for each of us. We sat smiling as the words disappeared while we popped the bubbles in the wrap.