I found one of your pictures the other day. It was completely by accident. I was taking some books off my bookshelf, ones I don't read anymore, to make room for a couple new ones, and then there you were. You slipped out of the covers of an old copy of Madame Bovary and fluttered to the floor, face up, staring at me in a time warp.
It was weird seeing you, since I hadn't in so long. At first I just stared down at your face, pale, how skinny you were then. It must've been winter, you're wearing that god awful brown coat you used to have. Do you still have that? I hope not.
You're standing in my kitchen and smiling. You're asking me why I never have anything in my fridge but green olives. You're inspecting a half eaten bag of Doritos. I'm 17 and I'm standing in my underpants, telling you to fuck off, I can live off green olives if I want to. Giggling like a school girl. Taking your picture.
You turn to me just as I snap the picture and your smile is as wide as a dinner plate. Your teeth are like stars. I loved you then.
But, you know, you changed, I changed, we all fell down.
You came into town a few days after I found your picture and we had dinner.
You put your hand on the small of my back after too many beers.
I kept smoking and felt sad because nothing had changed, but also everything had, and I knew that picture wasn't of you anymore.