Page by page,
I'll go through our book,
of memories, of lies, of a happier time.
Each picture is another one I have to pry up,
examine and burn.
Gently I’ll turn our pages,
letting my fingers walk down memory lane,
A path obscured by taped corners,
stickers and phrases once defining our days.
Our images are what’s left of us
A moment frozen eternally
capturing every grain the lens could see.
A prismatic tableaux detailing a table of contents
spanning a relationship still indefinable by mere words.
My memories won’t follow suit with the actions of the physical world,
Your images in ashes around me, are still in my head
but maybe, maybe, time will blow them away
like the wind has taken away your ashes, already.
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