I’ve decided to start sharing some of my daily writings, poems, and stories on my blog under the tag line “in my own words”. This first writing came from today and is based on my love of collecting old photographs.
I always think upon all the old photographs for sale in the antique shops. So many faces frozen in black and white; some young some old. All living on through the paper thin sheets they inhabit. I always think about who they were. They were all somebody to someone once. I wonder who they loved and who loved them. I think about what their hopes and dreams had been. What did they see in their lives, who did they touch? So many untold stories.
Now all they are are someone’s old memories sitting in a dusty box, being sold for 50 cents. It’s all so sad. To have outlived anyone that could ever remember you, to become forgotten in history. Just another life story that no one is alive to remember. And when those photos turn to dust, what will be left of your minor existence in this world? Whose to even say you were here at all?