Life is like a canvas on the wall, on which the faint drops of acrylic paint drop
just like the repetetive monotonous stutter of a rolling shutter on a camera.
Like the mocking rhythm of a clock ticking away the seconds of life.
Like every second is a pretentiously perfect portrait, as if one could just forget the reality behind the depiction.
The pictures are floating by one after another and you needn't even bother show interest in each and every single one,
because you know that you don't really care.
Because honestly there are a million pictures running by every single second.
Because sometimes you just want to pretend like nothing happened.
But then you take a look through your viewfinder, and you find everything else there is to look at.
The pictures that are a grim reminder, that you should know better than that.