I used to do a lot of photography.
I’d go out of my way to find cool places to visit so that I could come away with amazing shots to edit and share. It was comforting to look back on them – something to cement my presence there at that particular time, that specific moment. A piece of time that was wholly and entirely me.
Time tends to dull that warmth as the gap widens between that one and this one, but still – we pull these pages up, we prop open those old scrapbooks, we look at those old faces and feel, at least in some small measure, a small pounding echo of that moment in the pit of our stomachs.
Pulling at our seams. Tugging at the edges.