We used to say in the beginning
how it felt like such a dream.
Though, somehow
somewhere along our journey,
it turned into a nightmare.
The memories of us together,
I’ve now hidden.
Yet, I know where to find them
and sometimes I find myself
flipping through an album
of moments captured in time,
a reminder that at one point it was
most definitely a dream
and not just a night terror.

Photographs enable us to forget but force us to remember.

It took looking at your pictures today
To remind me why I deteste your name
Taking them before I didn't know they'd linger with pain
Curse the digital world
Where I can't watch you turn to ash in a radiant flame

He looked at his object with an eye.
So, he came closer to clarify.
An angle that will compliment for each element.
A product that can make a statement.
He chose the bright colors to incorporate.
Because her smile suited a great light.
He focused the subject, and suddenly it was fading.
She was started running.
Running, from the picture perfect life that he created.
She was a medium of unrealistic bliss.
And found herself out of nowhere.
People envied her but they didn’t know the  truth.
She was missing the unfiltered life.
She spaced out, and her heart was bruised.
He was definitely imaginative.
And fooled by unreachable perspective.
He looked at his object with an eye.
Thinking, with her was a root of a great life.

Maybe I kept all the photographs because the people smiling in them are always so much happier than I am
Perhaps I kept a box with all the letters because the writings in the notes are always so much more sincere than the hate I spew at you now
And I certainly know I kept a memory of all the most intimate moments so I could play them back on repeat when I am feeling ever so lonely

So yeah, maybe we keep close all our tiny keepsakes to remind ourselves of the people we still have the capacity to become once again.

the formation of the rain
on the window
recasts the landscape
into a kaleidoscope
picture
a glossy eight by ten
viewed through a prism

They say that the time never stops
But didn’t they tell you that I can even stop drops?
It’s me, the photograph, who’ll hold you
Till the time it gets better, even if the time flew
People say that I’m just a copy, just an ‘it’
But I’m capable of holding moments, making everything lit
I’ll make you remember those spring birds
I’ll make you cherish flowers of what you’ve heard
I’ll make you cry by those gestures so small
I’ll make you wonder by those abstracts you call
And I’ll make you feel a thing called love
And a thing called memory
And a thing called home
Cause it’s me, the photograph, who’ll hold you
Till the time it gets better, even if the time flew

18 Jan. 17
21:57