Prologue.
Words were always complicated. They changed and twirled and disappeared. Words were supposed to set things in order, explain them, connect everything. Words were supposed to mean something, but she didn't always understand.
Logic was based on too many rules that didn't make sense. Logic was supposed to answer what and why and how things should be. Someone decided what rules the universe followed, someone who didn't see the world the way she did.
Beauty was always easy. Dance. Movement. Music. Sound. People. Color. Shape.
Pictures.
Beauty was always easy. She didn't need the rules of beauty, she didn't have to understand, it was part of her. Beauty was always there, because she always looked for it, always longed for it, because she always found it. She knew beauty didn't have to be perfect, didn't have to be pretty. She knew beauty could be ugly, scared, flawed, destroyed, and she knew it wasn't beautiful despite of it, but because of it. She knew beauty couldn't be captured, caged, recreated, but she knew the attempt could sometimes create a different kind of beauty, a new kind of beauty. She knew she couldn't capture beauty, but she could capture a moment.
When she was five years old, she cried herself to sleep every night because people didn't see the world she did. They didn't see the beauty. For her sixth birthday, her dad bought her a simple, bright blue camera and told her it was up to her to teach them how to see the world through her eyes. For years, she brought it everywhere, taking pictures of cats, dogs, sticks, rocks, buildings, arms, legs, faces, people, rooms, trees, shoes, newspapers, signs, colors, mirrors, books, stores, classrooms, telephones, hats, computers, shadows, air, anything, everything, nothing. She stored them in boxes, put them in books, hung them on walls.
When Santana Lopez walked into her life, she walked into her pictures, her world.
Brittany tore down all her photographs, ripped them out of all her books, emptied every box, and gave them all to her. Sometimes, she would walk quietly into Santana's room, and she would find her laying on the floor with photographs covering her carpet, her walls, her sealing. Sometimes her eyes would be closed, sometimes she would be asleep, sometimes she would cry, sometimes she would laugh or smile or sing or not even breathe. She never frowned, never smirked, never rolled her eyes, never said anything.
She still brought her camera everywhere, taking pictures of Santana. Not only was Santana her world, she was the only thing Brittany needed to teach people how to see properly. Her smiles, scars, cracks, sparkles, tears, eyes, claws, confusion, dreams, hands, hair, mistakes, defeats, flaws, lips, skin. Her beauty. All she wanted was to show them Brittany's Santana, even if she had to hide her camera, her photographs, her world, from them for now. Santana had looked through her first developed film and told her that this was theirs, only theirs. No one else was ready for Brittany's world just yet. They would get scared and destroy it, her, them. Santana knew both worlds, so Brittany trusted her, waited, captured her moments in silence and told Santana about her world in words. Words that changed and twirled and disappeared. Words that were supposed to set things in order, explain them, connect everything. Words that were supposed to mean something, and that only Santana could understand.
To rest of the world, Santana became hard, mean, terrifying, flawlessly sculpted with perfect skin and hair, but Brittany still found her beauty and kept it in a box underneath her bed.
My note: This is a story of moments. A series of photographs of Brittany's Santana. If you have a moment, an idea, a wish or some inspiration, please let me know. It can involve other characters or be a moment from the show or your own story. I might change or add or take away something, to make everything fit this story and my mind, but please help me along?
I love moments and I don't have too many words, so this is my way of trying to write a real story.