I see the days pass by me
as a group of still photos
being flipped through the air
one image leads into another
and another and another
until there are no more images
to be seen in the passage of time
that would be the difference
between now and then
with all the photos strewn
about the floor in no particular order
i wonder what day it is, was
was it a Tuesday? Friday?
does it matter at all?
time can capture our fondest memories
and our darkest moments untli we reach
a time where there are no more memories
that can be held in the palm of our hands
except for another's hand who has been there
taking the photos that chronicled our lives.