Today, a memory of my lover
Resurfaces, breathes.
Her soul awakens, alive within the corners
Of a picture. I hold its edges, pinched
Between my wrinkled fingertips,
I used to touch hers with.
At the sight of her image, I hear my heart
Its raucous beating piercing through the silence,
Enveloping me along with the shadows of grief.
Darkness intensifies as I recall
How her presence surpassed sunshine,
but now lingers no more.
She was a time traveler, or so she proclaimed,
As her delicate fingers roamed the buttons
Of her camera, her treasure. She captured
Moments, time, the mundane, the most special,
The unnecessary— everything, except for me.
This I questioned over and over,
Bothered by such oddness.
Not once did she immortalize our moments passed.
And so my heart crumbled over her resistance
To capture our moments that never last.
Today, the answer of my lover
Resurfaces, escaping through the cracks:
“A picture of yours equates to our end. Gone
Shall be the days we walk together. By the time my fingers trace
Through our memories, you no longer linger. I shall look back,
Revisit through photographs, but not find you beyond the frames.
I shall only have your picture, but not have your presence remain.”
Perplexed, I replied, “That is, only if you leave.”
She glared, disappointed. To my direction,
She pointed her lenses and answered:
“I am a time traveler. You never believed.”
She captured me,
And disappeared forever. F TAFFY ARELLA M. BERNALES
