Camera Log 03 - It Split Down the Middle

 

It split down the middle, like something tried to break through the frame but got stuck between worlds.

 

Lisbon. Early evening. Still air. The light gone dull, like breath held too long. 

I took the third one without thinking.
Same object. Same silence.

Then came the sound.
A soft, dry crack, like pressure against something fragile.
It came from inside the camera.

The photo developed like it had been torn before it even existed.
Not the paper. The image.

One side went pale, the other sank into black.
A jagged line cuts between them, like something tried to push through but didn’t make it.

I told myself it was the film. Expired. Damaged.
But I wasn’t sure anymore.

I checked the camera. No cracks. No loose parts.
Still, I didn’t like the way it felt in my hands.
Warmer. Heavier.
Like it had swallowed something.

The picture just sat there on the table, and I couldn’t stop looking at it.

It reminded me of something split wide open — a mouth, maybe.
Or a wound that hasn’t started bleeding yet.

At some point, I whispered:
“Are you broken?”
But part of me already knew.

Not broken.
Changing.