photos writers island #18 if only

I retrieve you from the cardboard box stored away for many years.

On the oak surface, I spread out glossy prints.

I examine each smile, each hug, vibrant colour is a persistent ache.

My hands wander from one to the next, as I touch the smooth

surface of memories poised in my mind. I hear the sound of an

ambulance passing by and repeat to myself 'button, button who’s

got the button' a phrase from childhood. Things that are missed

and sometimes forgotten. Memories are all we have to hold on to.

I place you back in your paper tomb, until we can be together again.

On our oak surface. If only in my mind.