The dance of the photos

Do you even remember me? That’s how I feel each time I look at these photos dangling so precariously on my mirror. Each image a snapshot of a second of my life, only a moment trapped in ink. Colourful borders herding the memory into submission, otherwise, the silhouettes begin to dance. Their forms escaping such human holds as they prance around my room, swaying with a beat only I can hear. If someone enters will they disappear? No, they play a game of hide and seek. Peeking out through fabric and pillows, their laughing expressions glinting at a time I wish I could recall better. They mock me, I remember the heat from the days long ago. My skin pinching me to escape, leave and find such warm sun again. I can’t. I must get back to work.

Record

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