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  • Writer's pictureBrandon Robbins

Moving On

I found your picture while dusting, it was strange looking at your face. A flood of memories, the times we laughed and held each other in our tears. We had so many good times, I remember them all, even the fights over the stupidest things. We were so forgiving then, I find myself missing the sound of your voice, even the times you screamed at me. You cared enough to use your voice. I miss your presence, and how the air in the room felt when you were present.

I thought those times would last forever. I realize that forever just meant a very long time. You aren’t here now, the room is quiet and the air in the room feels emptier with you gone. I understand why you left, the things left behind are memories and pictures. It’s hard to believe that it’s been so long since you left, since we stopped being friends since we stopped being what we were… It hurts me a bit that I realize I don’t think about you as often. Even my memory of you is fading, replaced with moments of others coming and going from my life and my collection of photographs is growing. Some are present and others are living ghosts.

I realize it’s alright to miss you. It’s going to be ok, I’ll be okay. It might be time I replace your picture and say our final goodbyes. All other memories of you and my living ghosts leave their frames and disappear into a box in the attic. Maybe, I’ll be ready to let go and place your image on the fire, reducing my memory of you to ashes. Some day…

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