The beauty of pictures lies in the ease of memory,
The instant recollection of the connection you made
During one moment, of one hour, of one day, of one life,
The irreplaceable smile and irrevocable wile
With which you played each other’s hearts.
A distinct love of photos plays a melody
In my heart and mind and soul
Of the soulful sound of nostalgia
That transports me to a time
When the crime was falling in love
Rather than having nothing to take pictures of,
An empty life with nothing to remember,
The past year I have spent in an exile
Of my own making and a sorrow that
Has taken nine months of shaking
My shoulders to free myself of the burden
Of memories of the times before.
Stuck in old photos,
I forgot to take new ones,
And I forgot to live.