A fixed moment in time. A picture. A feeling. A memory of what was, and never again will be. Rummaging through old photographs of hers with family and friends, she went on opening old cardboard boxes, taking out pictures that summed all twenty-three years of her life: from the day she was born, her mother […]
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A Photograph

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A fixed moment in time.

A picture.

A feeling.

A memory of what was, and never again will be.

Rummaging through old photographs of hers with family and friends, she went on opening old cardboard boxes, taking out pictures that summed all twenty-three years of her life: from the day she was born, her mother holding her dearly between her arms, to her first day at school, prom and graduation, along many pictures with her friends: people who were long gone, whom she lost contact with and those who stayed by her side on her journey, watched her grow and supported her with all her decisions, from weird haircuts, to crazy travels and exotic outings.

The thing about one’s memory, she realized, is that it gets erroneous with time. We remember what our minds choose to keep, and sometimes they trick us into reshaping and remodeling a past moment into what keeps us sane and light. A picture though, captures that same moment, freezes it in time, keeps it from running away, it is immune to mutability and shows our soul in all its uniqueness, audacity, vulnerability, it is wonderfully wild and spontaneous.

Some photographs she found thrilling, touching others frightening, of happy moments, glorious and victorious, in some she was wallowing in sadness. She recaptured memories she wanted to keep locked away, of people who no longer cared, who hurt and shattered her into pieces. It was cruel and ironic, she thought, the art of photography, it got her soul all naked, showed her secrets, the ones she would never tell. As the human was to die and seize to exist, the photograph itself was immortal, it would stay in its frame untouched, the person in it didn’t age, it remained intact in all its glory.

As she closed the lid on the boxes and put them back in their place, she was bewildered, for what she saw was a concrete evidence of what she used to be but no longer were her reality. As her memories of old times faded and cheated her, the pictures always bore witness of her old self, followed her through many stages and reminded her of her greatness and thrives.

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