There is something about you that reminds me of those days. Was it the faint outlines of faces past, or the way you tilt your head to the left when you smile? The way the light touches your eyes, liquid blue eyes now tainted by age.
I remember those photobooks, black and white frames frozen in time. Your white dress the day you said those two words, your black hair forming a curtain to protect your child.
And now, I see you again. A personification of the photo in my wallet, my secret shrine for our long lost love. Your sepia skin discoloured by the years, finely veined like the worn marks on your photograph. And I long to trace the contour of your face again, just once more before time fade us away.