This is merely a memory, possibly the best one left you see. Time has stripped me of the others. What a wicked bother, however the photo restores the past. Sharp high heel shoes clicking rhythmically through the red brick road. The last true love that I used to know, our tongues intertwined tasting the last sips of the last drips of her cola. Her smell a mixture of musty books and mother nature.
            If I could go back I would rip her from those steps. Instead, I replay the last best kiss that I still miss, out in my head. I feel the warm softness of her moist lips as she pulls me passionately towards the steps. I remember her tightly toned waist. I retrace her hips with my fingers; making ghostly air shapes.
            This is the best and worst picture I have. That young man does not know what will happen yet. Life has not crushed his hope for love. Her eyes are still a deep celestial mass sparkling hazel, swimming with more grace than all of space has to offer.
            This is just my journal. That wet spot beneath the line where our tongues intertwined is just a salty drip. The last time I saw her my hands were sliding across the slick siding of the train as it rolled away. However, this is just my past, a memory that will fade as fast as I do.        
            I should have lept aboard. We should have danced on the train’s carpeted floor. We should have watched the towns pass by like our lives. The photo is black and white but I wish it was a colored, because I can’t recall if the parallel line on the side were black, blue, or a green hue.
            A distant whistle blows, as another metal monster rumbles through my memory. A few miles down the line metal crushes metal, glasses crunches, screams are muffled by the chaos in the distance.
            I rewind the memory back to the beginning, focusing on the last kiss.