We used to leaf through as kids.
A way to make forgotten details
Of a life come rushing back:
Mom and Dad so young,
That lumpy pumpkin costume.
Birthdays, anniversaries, of course.
But even the mundane trifles warrant capture.
The best pictures are the ones taken
For no discernible reason at all,
A whimsical forgetfulness
Of the notion a future might exist.
I remember the way I felt, exactly,
When you smiled on the plane,
That purple dress you once wore,
The time I snapped one
Of you, deep in introspection,
When you thought no one was looking.
What’s captured isn't the image,
Only the fleeting way I felt then.
Like this poem is just words
Trying ever so hard, someday soon,
To remind me of your skin,
Of the sadness I felt
While sitting alone on the porch
That resplendent fall afternoon
Scrolling through pictures of us.
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