I glance to the photograph in my hands.
remembering your touch.
your hands in mine.
the memories are vivid,
everything comes rushing back.
the laughter from when I met you.
the tears from when you left.
the click of your camera as we were taking this photograph.
you loved photographs.
"they're the only real way of getting in touch with your past"
I remember hearing you say.
you had every camera available in our small town.
you took pictures of every moment.
to the last detail.
to this day, I can't help but wonder.
why did you take all of those photographs of me, but only one with you?
I was raging, the fire you ignited still burning within me.
why did you leave?
I miss you.
and if the only way to get in touch with my past was through photographs.
this photo was all I had.
I wish I had a camera with all the photos I could have taken of you.