Small Things

“It’s the small things I remember most, like how she loved  to take pictures.  Of everything. It’s strange how I can still see the light bloom in her eyes when she saw something beautiful. I was always the kind of guy who just let the moment sink into a memory, but she always wanted to capture it. She would snap pictures of me and her pets and other people’s pets. It didn’t matter what it was. She wanted to hold each moment so tightly that I think it’s what killed her in the end. All those photos, those stolen memories she carried around with her, but I think she forgot the living part. The part where your memory becomes the film, your eyes and hands, the camera. She was always snapping pictures. I remember how she’d make me pull the car over so she could catch some fleeting image. She never realized her own would be so fleeting. It’s funny. I have boxes of her pictures but none of them are of her. She spent her whole life memorializing the world, and now I can only see her smile when I close my eyes.”




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