I saw a photo of you yesterday of granular colour
Fading fast, poor in quality.
Hurriedly taken, poorly processed:
It was one I'd never seen.

A second glance made me pause.
You were not quite as I recall:
Strange, that I would forget details;
Laugh lines here and there, and the sheer whiteness of your hair.

My own memory's snapshot is a composite.
A mish-mash of impressions developed by my mind,
Fading fast as time goes by.