Do you ever look back at pictures and wonder?

Do you ever look back at pictures and wonder?

What if time had stood still and I could for once take it slow.

I could taste your laughter as though it was the last thing that was still real.

Something that was still able to make me feel.

If I could hold your gaze like a page in a story, I've read over and over again.

A page marked like something worth remembering.

If I could know what it would be like to have reality without you.

My very first memory of a rose was a dried one.

I had for so long thought that's how love is supposed to be, outlived, on the verge of death.

Only existing in someone else's story.

The next memory of a rose was from a fairytale.

It lasted for as long as a curse did.

I didn't know what difference there was between my two perceptions.

Somehow to me, long gone love seemed like a curse reckoning in our dreams, the news of something awful.

The most everlasting memory until today is from a blue door, in an abandoned place, a rose placed by a love that couldn't stay. Breathing in this heat, I wondered.

What would become of it? For love was so real.

And it was doomed by separation.

A love that is unrequited becomes the background fragrance, I think.

It is placed in the open. It tells a tale.

But it doesn't leave anything out of focus. It remains.

Just as my stories remain. Merged in between reality and fiction.

The way I look back and imagine you. How you looked at me once. And never the same, again.