The Photo

It was at the bottom of the box.

And yet it felt as if it was placed there, not left.

A hidden memory, waiting to become a new memory.

It is a treasure more valuable than gold.

It is faded, you can barely make out a person.

Who were they? What did they hope to share?

Photos, a period of time frozen.

No words are necessary.

The meaning is in the eye of the beholder, which is the beauty.

Whoever they were, they are now important.

They are now the photo.


21 thoughts on “The Photo

  1. I love this. Very sad in a way… I always wanted to “adopt” one of those great old photos in the oval frames that you see in antique stores and tell people that was my family. It’s like they need a home, ya know? Great post.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Do you know what is really sad? When I find old photos in second hand and antique shops. Those are real people with real families in those photos. I would love to know their stories and why their families don’t have the photos.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Hey there
    i write self written poems too.
    It would be great if you check out my blog and my efforts πŸ™‚
    I am sure i wont disappoint you πŸ™‚
    Follow me for more poems,haha πŸ˜€
    Thanks :))


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