Scrolling through grainy iPhone photos, he stops on one of me. Head tilted sideways, the corners of my mouth pulled up as if caught on invisible fishhooks, a dimpled camera smile at its best. Fake blonde and ducking stereotypes – foundation smoothed over the suitcases packed heavily beneath lash fanned eyes.
He says it doesn’t look like me.
Because I look pretty, or exhausted? Either will do because 9 am iPhone photos are a reminder that the camera can’t see what’s outside the frame. That the fishhooks lingering at each corner of my lips are unseen and nervously gnawed nails remain tucked into crescent imprinted palms.
Head tilted sideways, eyes angled up – a dimpled camera smile at it’s best?