I used to take pictures of you all the time. Not because you were a new and fresh, breastmilk-tinged babyface. But because I was at once enraptured and overcome by both you and the urgency to remember. Somehow, as of late, I’ve not picked up the camera. You are no less glorious today. No less new. It’s just…the camera simultaneously captures your youth and solidifies your growth. Confirms your slipping away. Maybe I am too early for these fears. But the thought traces something damp down my cheek.
A faint shadow reminds me of how I used to frequently admonish myself to slow down for you. But now…
I just want to keep pace with you.
Things To Do:
I’m making my way toward finding the well hidden entrance to the Vortex of Time. I plan to recover our Stolen Days. Or at the very least, get some answers. I have the sneaking suspicion there aren’t any–no answers nor days stolen.
So I endeavor to again pick up my camera. Because you are no less new. No less glorious than The Day We Met.
Slow down, Baby.