The Missing Photograph

I wish I had a picture of you and I together
Resting, as always, in each other’s arms
So I could pull it out
And remind myself
Just every so often
That there was a we
A you, so sweetly entangled with a me.
I’d keep it,
Taped above my computer screen at work,
Or on a clip upon the refrigerator
I’d keep it in my wallet to show to strangers
Or on the rear view mirror when I’m looking back
I’d stare at it one handed in bed by the light of a lamp
Or on the page of an old scrapbook gathering dust
I’d keep it inside my locker
I’d clutch it with my last breath
I’d crumple it with bloody fingers
I’d throw it away and take it out of the waste bin- thrice over
I’d burn it and eat the ashes
But I have no such photograph, no such remnant, of what once was, only the electronic reminder of how you still, occasionally, are. I know I’m alive, but, the we is dead…


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