My dearest passionate twirlers and tempestuos stompers,
Many years have passed between us, haven’t they? I often think fondly back on our introduction and that slow flirtateous way we came to know more about each other over the years. Although, I guess “each other” may not be the correct way to describe it now, would it? I mean, all this time, our relationship has been about you and nothing but you.
Yes, your selfishness has been overwhelming at times, blurring our relationship at each dark encounter, literally. Do you know how hard it is to watch your fiery passion hypnotise crowds of strangers while I sit quietly so very frustrated, wondering what I did wrong? All these years would it have been that hard for you to see me waiting patiently in the darkness? Waiting for you, just once, to take notice of my needs.
I find it dumbfoundingly ironic that Spain has taught me so much about patience over the years, yet, you, my little Spanish emblem, have usurped all of that. You’re too damn fast and I’m too damn slow and that just kills me. Why is it so damn hard for you to just “pose it” for a little bit longer, heh? Do you know how much restraint it took not to scream out loud, “Hold that swirl, girl” one show after another?
Well, it doesn’t matter anymore because I’ve finally had it. I’m dumping your little shimmying culo, permanently.
Don’t bother arguing – you know it’s for the best.
I mean, do you have any idea how many damn blurry photos I’ve taken of you over the years? Your stomping is too fast and your twirling, swooshy movements are simply unattainable. Yes, feel free to prance around all you want, but it’s still too dark and you and your little swirly friends are just too nimble for me. And don’t even get me started on your vacillating hand movements. Flirty and mesmorizing? Yes. Easy to photo? Hell no.
Do you know what’s its like to be reminded of the acrid taste of photo failure, time and time again? Have you not seen me, time and time again, sitting patiently with my camera at hand and my eager glare silently begging the Flamenco Gods, the Photography Gods, the Lighting Gods, and those stubborn F-stop Gods to let me take one damn photo that comes out halfway decent?
Why did you have to be so damn passionate, so dramatic, and just so damn flittery, all this time? We could have really made a great pair, you know that?
Well, it really doesn’t matter now. Thanks to you and your clickety clack crap and your damn flouncy volantes, I’ve finally given up on us. These are the last photos I’ve taken of you and I hope you choke on them. Yes, I know, once again, they’re quite blurry and romantically dark, but I really feel that captures our entire relationship perfectly.
With these photos, my little Spanish tornado, I bid you farewell because I will never, ever try and take a damn flamenco photo again.