old pictures of
me and you
surface to my memory
of times where our hands
locked together
our eyes intertwined with each other
our scrunched up noses tickling
like a feather
but those pictures are of a past
that cannot be reached no matter
how hard I try to believe that
you would ever come back to me
these pictures are all I have left of
you with me and it's hard to
throw them out when all
I can do is reminisce about
a past that I cannot touch