Time stands still,
Frozen in an moment,
Lying on that dusty shelf.
It seems to be all but forgotten,
Like the memories,
Residing in myself.
Within the frame lies the two,
Whose love was stickier than glue.
No one had a clue,
That their time together was long overdue.
Everything seemed to vanish,
With a flash of darkened grey.
Those images forged under,
That rising sun,
Those heated moments,
As they gazed at the stars in wonder,
That were captured in that frame.
It laid caked in dust,
Underneath that glass,
But, the sparks that flew that day,
Still remained the same.
Capturing the time,
In its beautiful frame.
The photograph on the standstill,
Had both of our names,
Immortalized as a shrine,
To an agonizing death,
Of what we had.
In these trying times,
An obscure future,
Ugly snapshots,
Marked with your absence.
I cry,
There was no hope,
For us to survive.
Were we picture perfect?
Like the models in the magazines?
Like the star actors from the movie screens?
But it couldn't be because my memories,
Can't be forgotten.
Or were we the paintings they hang in museums?
Like the ideal figures? Or mere strokes of paint on canvas?
Like the sculptures that roam the daydreams of our coliseums?
I can't forget the antics, nor the second chances,
I may just be making my memories, sweeter than fiction.
Painting ideal memories of a past that never existed.
I wish it were all true,
That all of these memories would remain,
Unforgotten by me and you.
As I lie by your empty bed,
Holding up that dusty frame.
I know that my life will,
Never be the same.
It'll never be as perfect,
As what was once captured,
In that photograph.
My heart is finally,
Broken in half.
YOU ARE READING
Afterthoughts
PoetryA collaborative collection of poems reflecting the inner workings of the human mind, challenges, musings, desires, and emotions. These poems contain some of the thoughts racing through our mind when we take a step back and reflect on ourselves. Som...
