Potent Popping Photographs

The clock, a relentless heartbeat, ticks forward, each beat a thief, stealing moments, once vibrant, now fading hues in the attic of my mind. Sunlight through a dusty windowpane, illuminates a forgotten photograph. A younger me, laughing, unburdened by the weight of years unspooled. The scent of rain on dry earth, a phantom limb of a summer long gone, a melody hummed on a porch swing, a whisper in the rustling leaves – fragments remain, shards of a shattered mirror, reflecting a distorted past. Fingers trace the lines etched on my hand, a roadmap of journeys taken, joys embraced, sorrows weathered. Time, the sculptor, chisels away at clarity, leaving behind a beautiful, blurry mosaic of what was. And in the quiet spaces, between the tick and the tock, I search for the echoes, the ghosts of laughter, the warmth of a touch, knowing that even in fading, there is a poignant kind of beauty, a testament to a life lived, a story whispered on the breath of passing years. ©bfa051725