Crying Over an Old Photo

16 Aug

I have it in my old email account, the one that I’ve shut down long ago. It dates around February 2013, eighteen months ago. It’s a selfie of us, at the park and it’s the only one I have of him.

SG is sitting behind me, and I am leaning back against him. I can still feel the warmth of his arms wrapped around me. His face is in my hair, and he’s kissing the top of my head. His long auburn curls are a jumble around us, hiding his face, so all you can see is a bit of his forehead and his long lashes over closed eyelids.

And you can see me, looking straight at the camera. I’d taken my glasses off. I’m smiling, the kind of smile that comes from within, the kind you cannot fake, that means that you’re trully content.

I remember that gray sweatshirt, the one with the hood that he wore on laid back days, like that one at the park. I’d gotten off work early and picked him up. We went to that spot I used to go to with friends to talk when I was 19 and my heart was still unbroken. We climbed up the wooden ladder to where the tall slide is. No one was there, so we just sat at the top, and he held me, and we talked for a long time.

Sometimes, out of anger or frustration, I think that what I had with SG wasn’t real. I tell myself he was in it for the sex, or for the adventure of being with an older woman. I tell myself that he didn’t actually love me. But pictures cannot lie.

Looking at this one, now, I know what we had. And I wonder if I will ever have it again.

And then I cry… And listen to this.

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