The Photo Album

They say pictures are to preserve memories; to keep the moment forever.

To me, they are symbols of the memories lost. Because once you click, the moment is lost forever. It symbolises the loss of that particular timeframe, not preserve it.
Just symbols of the time gone...

___

She sat in the middle of her room, a couple of photo-albums strewn open like blocks of wood thats been chopped in half. They were thick, bulky and full; full of nameless faces, carved smiles and rehearsed poses. Most of all, they were full of loss.

Here was a picture of an old woman she once met at a home. Monthly visits were promised, phone numbers exchanged and hearts touched. But that was the only time she ever saw her again because she passed away that very night. It was July and her first visit to a home.

She placed the picture down and a polaroid caught her eye. It was taken by a friend's polaroid camera. The instant picture, the large handle to pull to get the picture out was all the craze in '95. She wore a pale pink dress made of lace and love. Her grandmother had sewed it for her to wear to her prom. Standing shy next to her was a boy she once called "Wheezer" amongst her close friends. Whenever he laughed, he made a wheezing sound and although she never admitted it to anyone, she had the longest-running crush on him and when he asked her to be his date for their high-school prom, she was convinced she would spend the rest of her life with him.

They held hands that night and it was captured on the polaroid. She faintly remembered how her heart soared, how her eyes sparkled, how her face flushed. She wished the polaroid did more than to just give a visual souvenir. The feelings she experienced that night could have helped her get through the pain she's going through now.

Suddenly the window broke open and the wind rushed in uninvitingly. Pictures, pieces of paper and assortments of unused namecards went ruffling and formed a mini chaos in the tiny room. She stood up, the album on her lap falling with a thud. Struggling to shut the window close, her eyes caught the figure of a man standing in the distance, his shadow casting a long profile on the sidewalk. She slammed the window shut and went to clear the mess.

Her thin frame quivered and she rubbed her upper arms. Her body was bent over the floor; her hands hurriedly gathering the pictures into a pile. Without warning, the door to the room erupted and the man stood over her.

"How long are you going to ignore me?"

She stood up with a fright and shielded her face with her arms.

"Maria, look at me."

He gently pushed her arms down, exposing her round, pretty face. Her eyes remained enrapt with his shoes.

"Come on, look at me."

Fluttering like winged things, her eyelids flickered and her eyes finally met his.

"I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry. Please come back."