The pictures are all I have left.
They’re scattered on the floor where I left them.
They’re pictures of me, and you, and them.
Pictures from then.
The then that will never be now.
It’s too late.
It’s all over.
They joy I feel when I see the pictures is fake.
Fake joy that fills me up with the fake sunshine reflected off our faces from the last picture I will ever see of us.
The real us.
Because I am not the me I was and you are not the you you were.
But that’s okay.
The memories trapped in these pictures will be forever.
No matter where we go.
No matter how far apart we grow.
The pictures will be proof that once upon a time we were together.
We were.