The first time we met you brought along a digicam to take my pic. I hid your digicam in my lap and told you in no uncertain terms that I hated having my photo taken. I was unreasonable and couldn't properly explain why I've never liked being photographed, but somehow you knew and never tried taking my pic after that. You're still trigger happy and carry your digicam around, but you take care to take everything else but me. Bits of me are caught in snapshots. My hand scooping out tiramisu with a spoon. The top of my head in the reflection from a mirror. The animal balloons you've given me. But never the complete me head-on.

Your pics are just like the snippets of you I try to capture in my blog.