I'm older now.

You haven't seen the changes, and I'm glad.

Fine lines are beginning to gather. My hair isn't the same. My body grows weaker.
But, in still-frames, we are forever frozen in youthful wonder.

Of the few pictures that remain of us, this one is my favorite.

Do you remember it?
I'd like to think you would.

No matter how much I may try to forget, I can't.

It hurts to admit that, sometimes, I long for amnesia... but right now, I'm actually content with nostalgia.

Content with longing.

It hurts to long for you, but it is a constant reminder that you were real...

That we both were...
That our love was.

That you weren't just some indescribably beautiful figment of my imagination.

No... you're far too beautiful to be just a creation of my weary mind anyhow.
I could never dream up a being as wholly perfect as you.

And this photograph is proof.

I hold this photograph of us, keeping a copy stored away in my wallet. And every time my dollars drain dry, I find wealth once more in the richness of its memories.

I touch this photograph of us, being careful to not leave too many fingerprints. My hands are dirty and, sometimes, I wonder why you ever allowed me to touch you.

I grip this photograph of us, as if it were the last winning lottery ticket - a promise to keep me happily secure for the rest of my life.

You once promised me the same.
But the leaking of my kitchen faucet reminds me of reality.

You've let go. My place has been taken, and I don't know why.

Where there is no closure, there is no peace.
Maybe that's why I can't sleep.

How can I?

No, I haven't slept in years.
And since I haven't, I've had lots of time to look at this picture.

I stare at the photo. You look so different; I look so different.

We were happy.

Do you remember how I made you happy?

It's been so long without you, I don't remember what happiness is anymore.

Has it really been years? 

My eye catches the cursor of the electronic clock, watching the seconds and minutes and hours and days and weeks and months and years slip away. Time flies through my hair as a ruffling wind - there for a second, and gone in the next. Calendar pages turn, like pages of a flip-book. The sun spins around me, light and darkness.

But it all feels the same as minute one, day one.

I loved you then.
I love you still.

I stare at this photo of us, and I rip it down the middle.
You, on the left. Me, on the right.

I'll live and die in this agony, because I'm living in two pieces - the piece I've left with you, and the piece that's left of me.

I'm still mourning the loss of someone who's alive.

Everyone tells me to... but I just can't forget you.

How can I?

One year.

Two.

Three years.

Four.

Five years.

Six...

I was yours from the moment I heard your voice, like liquid gold. You used to greet me by name, with a sugary hello, and an even sweeter smile in your eyes.

Do you remember?

You told me to move on.
But how can I?

You said hello to me.
But you never taught me how to say goodbye.