Gingerly, I pull my old, tattered photo album from my shelf.
Slowly, I open its pages and gaze upon many others and myself.
I gaze at old friends and family, so many, no longer living now.
Such precious memories, almost wishing to relive, somehow.
Photos of the past, frozen, moments now forever standing still.
Precious moments portraying my past life as mostly tranquil.
It's as if life were a fluffy cloud dancing across a summer sky,
Twisting, turning, forming, until click, caught by the cameras eye.
I am an old man now; as I turn each page there comes a thought.
How marvelous photos are, letting us to view a moment caught.
Photos, common now, but in eras past, might seem like magic.
For one to see oneself as a child again, what a startling trick.
Viewing photos from before our time, showing others of long ago,
I imagine entering each frozen moment with them, as it were so.
Without ever knowing them, I can see how easily I could belong,
And melt into each past tapestry, as if I were part of their song.
Closing my album, I exit this journey, returning to where I began.
Viewing such photos, I feel more connected to this divided span.
Like ice cubes, photos cool life's drink, making them taste better.
Holding these photos feels like finding a precious long lost letter.
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 3:15 PM UTC
Gingerly, I pull my old, tattered photo album from my shelf.
Slowly, I open its pages and gaze upon many others and myself.
I gaze at old friends and family, so many, no longer living now.
Such precious memories, almost wishing to relive, somehow.
Photos of the past, frozen, moments now forever standing still.
Precious moments portraying my past life as mostly tranquil.
It's as if life were a fluffy cloud dancing across a summer sky,
Twisting, turning, forming, until click, caught by the cameras eye.
I am an old man now; as I turn each page there comes a thought.
How marvelous photos are, letting us to view a moment caught.
Photos, common now, but in eras past, might seem like magic.
For one to see oneself as a child again, what a startling trick.
Viewing photos from before our time, showing others of long ago,
I imagine entering each frozen moment with them, as it were so.
Without ever knowing them, I can see how easily I could belong,
And melt into each past tapestry, as if I were part of their song.
Closing my album, I exit this journey, returning to where I began.
Viewing such photos, I feel more connected to this divided span.
Like ice cubes, photos cool life's drink, making them taste better.
Holding these photos feels like finding a precious long lost letter.
