Photographs.

I know I kind of disappeared but I'm still writing!
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Finding an old camera stored away,

in a cracked, old leather case.

I blow the dust off its ancient shell

preparing to unearth its history.

 I open the box carefully,

as if I were handling explosives.

I cough and choke as a musky aroma fills the air.

The camera is an antique.  The film still in perfect place ready to take a sudden shot.

I imagine the pictures it has taken, the places it has been and the memories it has seen.

Such memories captured in a single image.

Happy memories.

Funny memories.

Never sad.  

Nobody takes pictures of sad moments.  Those memories stay in our mind, imprisoned forever.

But although most photographs are happy. They aren't real.

They could v'e just been painted by hand.

The perfect smile, prepared and presented.

Then the picture is taken and the smiles fade.

We become human again until the next time.

We keep photographs to remember special times, when our minds no longer can.

Or , to show our pride for our family, friends and achievements.

Each one, a relic that we many pass down through generations

to remind people of our existence.

Intrigued, I lift the camera out of the case and look around for inspiration.

Opposite myself stands a mirror.

My reflection slowly smiles back at me

as I aim and press the trigger.

In many years, I may look back at this piece of paper that portrays a simple image.

Something as simple as finding an dusty, old camera.

A click.

A flash.

A memory. 

“A photograph can be an instant of life captured for eternity that will never cease looking back at you.” 
―Brigitte Bardot

“Still photographs are the most powerful weapon in the world. People believe them, but photographs do lie, even without manipulation. They are only half-truths.” 
―Eddie Adams