I’ve spent so many days

looking at photographs

of me as a child.


These photographs remind me of

how much I’ve lived

how much I’ve loved

how little I have left to lose.


The most striking photographs

show me sat on my father’s lap

while I smile like the cheshire cat,

not knowing what will come of my life,

not even caring that I don’t know.


That little girl is gone now

but a new woman’s arose.


People grow

and people change

and the colours of

those photographs fade.


Is anything really wrong with that?


The days I spend

looking at photographs

show me just

what time really is:


it cannot be chased,

it cannot be faked,

it cannot be escaped


and maybe, that’s okay.