Today I looked at a picture. It was a picture of you and me. It looked so old, although I knew that I wasn’t. I still think about you, I still remember that so vividly. But it’s like I’m looking at someone else’s life, it’s almost surreal. That girl looks just like me but I don’t recognize it, at least not compared to the ghost in the mirror looking back at me. These eyes are dull, and almost sad. Those are full, full of life and it’s wonders, full of your scent and the feast of passion and love they thought were surrounding them. I am a shell, monotonous and frozen, glassy and dilated. The truth lies in the smoke, the smoke and the mirrors…and the photograph.