I took a picture of a picture today and sent it to a friend -
A picture of lost time and space.
A picture of us,
of the past.

It demonstrates heartbreaking beauty, because as I sit looking at our faces
binded together by our kiss, I can only wish that I could recall what was lying
on our hearts and what words we were scattering from our lips. That dance floor
was hardly big enough for all the things we were telling the world -
My arms hardly big enough to hold what I thought mine was.

But there we are -
Happy.

I polished off my favorite notebook, the one filled with ink tips of you -
and taped it inside. I studied every portion of it. From the way we have our eyes
locked on each other, to the way our skins seem to be made to match each others.
How our lips look so natural while smiling and kissing at the same time. Even though
that doesn't seem plausible.

It's kind of gut wrenching -
that while people of people kept spinning their lives around us, and while our
lives didn't seem to to matter outside that moment, that one person saw the beauty
in our need for one another,
in our eyes,
in that moment,

And out of their own free will gave life to a moment that was supposed to be lost forever -

They snapped a picture of us,
maybe hoping someday they could be
that simply euphoric,
that simply beautiful,
that simply lost.

And now, without knowing who that photographer may be, I revel in remembrance,
and while my heart shatters because I would give the world to see a fraction of that passion
and spark from you for anything in your life again, even though it will never be me,
peace fills my heart...
because I'm okay without you, and I know it.
And I also know that maybe I'm not the only one remembering the plain,
consuming beauty of us,
but that some

disposable camera photographer
is out looking for the same moment for themselves...

because one night,
long ago,
they captured it on film...

so they know it must exist.