I would make the light.

I'd take it
from wherever I found it.

I'd bring it inside
and make it work for me
and so find the hidden
and show the truth

and so lift the shadows
to their rightful place.

Worn photograph clutched
Tightly in the mind's eye
Faces faded, edges rough
Light preserved by hopes lie

Lush garden terrace
Woven through with thorns
Soft smile turned sharp grimace
Scarcely healed scars torn

Fairytale truths delude
Poison apple dreams
The really-real world
Seethes behind the seems

Dark mirrors reflection
Bends reality
Echoes of connection
Charm eternity

You step outside of the moment like a misty window bystander with your hood up and your hand warmers that you’ll put in your scrapbook so as to bless and keep this memory all your days.
Sift out the sound waves as you watch the dancing silhouettes of the good old days
Bringing tears to your eyes as you remember that someday this’ll be in a box wrapped and taped scotch-like for you to look at and think how lucky we were.
But right now you’re pulling all your best strings to carve out scrawled negatives on the glass before the condensation of your breath fades fades away.
Oh doesn’t it remind you, dear,
That we live in the awareness of fleeting moments rather than the moments themselves?
That we only put the remaining numbers of seconds on our dance cards and not let our time with fullness instead take our hands and waists?
That we scrounge for the film that we can Mary Poppins jump into on the other end of a short while instead of running the risk of forgetting by ripping open the gift of the instant we have been personally given by God?

Don’t let it pass you by because
Even though it’s only out the train window if you
Let it permeate your heart forever that’s the
Only way you can keep it in your pocket during your walk towards eternity.

She keeps
the photo to herself.
Sometimes
she shares
with me
the memories
when she goes.
And
among all
that
is stored,
her names
are the things
that cannot
be forgotten.
She keeps
her heart to herself,
and my heart to myself.
She keeps
the things
I shouldn't.
I keep
the discrepancy.

And just like a picture frame
that holds a precious memory,
I looked at you through my car window,
Hoping you'll remember me.

That's what happens in photographs—
You're frozen in time.
And the next thing I knew,
I was saying goodbye.

It was the flash of colors,
Your eyes covered in the hair you hated so much.
Reds,
Blues,
Oranges,
Pinks.
Colors mushed together to find what made your heart beat out of your chest.
Blurry,
Blurry pictures of you.
Like you were always out of reach to me.

A photograph of a girl,
with dark hair and a bright smile.
And overtime, over pictures, you see her unfurl.

A smile, and a glimmer in her eye,
her rosy cheeks stretch into a smile, with her arm around her friend,
the change is hard to deny.

A week ago, hollow cheeks and bright hair,
dried from the bleach and dye,
when did she fall into the depths of despair?

Empty eyes with no hope,
and a plain, faked grinned,
her decline is a slippery *****.

She falls further down,
gripping to the sides,
as she tumbles and tumbles and tumbles.