Why?

I had to do it.

Why, I don’t know, really.

I had to open that last picture

I shouldn’t have kept it

It’s there in the file, easily accessed

What is it about not letting go

You only hurt yourself

Looking at those pictures

Thinking

Torturing yourself with memories

Why do we do it?

Thinking about him never stops

But seeing his face is another matter

That face you love

That face you want to hold in your hands

Those eyes you can’t forget.

Why can’t I forget

Why do I look at the picture, again?

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