Prelude

            I have a crooked smile I cannot get rid of. No matter how hard I try whenever I get excited the left side of my face seems to twist upward. Involuntarily scrunching my eyes together and furrowing my forehead. Damn, I hate when I smile.

            I fake the smiles now though, not like that is really hard lately. I make sure my lips look cute, lightly pressed against each other; careful not to show any teeth. My cheeks are barely raised, just enough to look appealing. If I am feeling raunchy I’ll only lift one cheek in an all-knowing smirk. If I am feeling silly, maybe I’ll stick my tongue through my lips diagonally.

            The only thing I cannot seem to fake is the eyes. Every time I take a picture it always seems that I can never get the eyes quite right. I heard it somewhere -or maybe I read it- that the eyes are windows to the soul. My face may seem happy but my eyes always seem to tell a different story.           

            You see, I love taking pictures. I may not have the best camera, but pictures are my passion; with them I can tell a million stories. Every day I try to take at least one hundred pictures so I can be able to tell the story of my life. Lately, my story hasn't been looking so good. That’s really why I have been faking my smiles so much but my eyes will not lie for me. I want to be able to look back on these times and smile, not remember why I was so unhappy.