Snapshots

At a quite time of night I go to my closet, there on the floor is the box. All the pictures I have taken since we were together. I sit in my easy chair and turn on the light beside me.

At random, just like my memories of you, I reach without looking to see where, I grab a stack of photos. The top one is a picture of you with a short skirt as you are stepping out of your car. You always hated that photo because your skirt had ridden all the way up your thigh.

The next photo was one of us together in the mountains on vacation. I pause to remember the day. I am surprised I can still recall so many details. This photo is of our oldest on his birthday with you standing beside him. I still remember how upset he was because he didn’t win pin the tail on the donkey.

I spend a few hours looking at these old pictures, then I sit the box down beside my chair. I close my eyes and remember all of the good times we had together. I remember all of our dreams for the future.

I look at these photos and cry. I cry for what might have been and now can never be, because they are all I have left of you.