Strangers Through The Frame

Forced into the back corner,
A cowering animal, bowing under the pressure of my gaze.
My photo album.
Reluctantly lured from its hiding place,
By careful fingers, outstretched and searching.
Leather spine crackling, it falls open in my palms, eager to share its secrets.
Yielding snapshots from long ago, frozen in time, the moments linger in my mind.
A jigsaw of memories, slotting into place, like a song.
I recall…
The faint tingling smell of sea salt
And the crispy barbecue.
Parents looking on lovingly at children and cousins eating cool, sweet ice-cream,
Giggling as it trickles down their faces,
Mingling with the sand-encrusted sunscreen,
Like thick, sticky honey dripping over pastry.
Hair whipping faces as cool breezes dart among us,
Sending shivers down our spine.
Yet the sun shines incessantly on our faces,
Baking salt into our skin.
Blue ocean stretching out before us,
Like a lifetime.
Through faded memories, dimmed with time,
I see myself, unfamiliar to me now.
Who is this stranger in the frame?
Reminiscing times of endless horizons,
Surrounded by the warmth of family.
How things could change…
But still they smile emphatically back at me,
Beaming in their ignorance and oblivious to their future.
Past selves washed away with the currents of time,
As the waves lap at our feet,
A constant reminder of what we have lost,
While we, ever-changing, continue.
Continue to live in ignorance,
Of ourselves and our lives.
Continue to be,
Yet we are swept away by inevitable tides.
Continue until we are nothing but picture-perfect memories,
Strangers through the frame.