Faded Pages

"My brother gave me the prompt of Loss and Photograph, so I wrote a little story inspired by that"

I sit

Staring at a sad eyed photo

Wiping my tears with the same hands she held

Staring at a dream I didn’t know

Losing myself in a place I did not go

In my blur of anger

I rip the memory apart

I scatter it across the floor

Throw open my bedroom door and scream

In my settling realization of regret

I run back to my picture perfect frames of her

Stitching together that smile

And that smile

And that moment in time

Praying I’ll be able to create something that looks like her

With tears in my eyes I prop open the album

I flip to the very first page

And there her and I stand on faded pages

We laugh great big laughs 

We dream such big dreams

We were alive

We were alive

I, am alive

Tired eyes flicker over to a sleepy eyed photograph

There she is with her head on my shoulder

Sometimes I fear I fell asleep and dreamt her up

With my brain laid against her chest

Praying she knew her warmth was my breath

I cannot bare to put my finger on every memory

To turn the faded pages and accept that she is gone

Heavy longing turns into blurry eyes turns into crying in the night

Long mornings and aching mourning turns into sobbing turns into reminiscing in the light

I miss her

She does not miss me

For she is just a faded page

Tucked away into an album of photographs inside my head

Replaying the memory of her and I

Always her and I

Reviews

[William Michael Reeves]

This sad story made me think of the sad fact that we don't keep our memories in an album anymore. We've lost those moments turning the pages together. Now are memories scroll on a cold device that only one can see ...at a time. Deleted. The emotion in your poetry is photographic.

[Lillian Kirsch]

I'm glad you could see some of themes in this piece and reflect on them, my friend.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Such sadness ... torn memories, fragments of what once was and will never be again. There is solace even in tears. Beautiful!

[Lillian Kirsch]

Thank you for your kind words, Linda. Loss is a different kind of pain.

[Coyote Poetry]

Dear Lilian. We shall miss many things. We must seek friendship and laughter.
"And there her and I stand on faded pages
We laugh great big laughs
We dream such big dreams
We were alive
We were alive
I, am alive"
The above lines, I whisper nightly. Even tonight I want to escape. But where do I go to? Powerful and worthwhile poetry dear poet.
Coyote

[Lillian Kirsch]

I'm glad the poem was able to to relate to you. My only advice is to hold on to the memories even if they hurt, because they're what save you from the loneliness when all is gone.

[Coyote Poetry]

I try dear Lilian. But Johnnie, ready to escape to Big Sur and to write the great novel. Thank you for your comments.

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

We cling to such forlorn and tender memories in our minds. Like dusty old Polaroids with worn edges. Some are painful in their fleeting joy they seem to elicit from us. Your poem is a stark reminder of their power over our hearts and lives. CLE

[Lillian Kirsch]

Thank you for reading and appreciating my poetry, Carlos. I certainly agree with you, the tender memories can sometimes hurt the most when the ones you held them with are gone.