In The Writer’s Library this morning, I drafted a poem inspired by Akshada22. The specific post is below for you to see. Check out the 9th picture in this reel (the one with the photo spread).

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Memories of Us

It’s those random moments when it hits me how far we’ve come

from the kids we were riding Ferris Wheels and getting sick after Spinning Teacups.

Thinking we were so grown, we knew we had life figured out.

Was it a fun moment that seeped into the other nine years,

or a story cut short by a decade of emotions, bad childhood experiences, and immature thinking?

I glance over to the desktop, seeing the 2” x 3” scattered memories,

perfectly framed moments that portray a happy couple and a decade of love that couldn’t be matched.

Help me remember the truth behind the photos.

Let me see those memories through your eyes.

Did we really own the night in Rosarita?

Papas and cervezas, volleyball and way too much walking,

Laughing until it wasn’t funny anymore,

then laughing once more for effect.

Did we really defy the odds in Austin?

Rekindling what could have died,

should have died,

and giving it another 4 years of solid prayer and faith that we would work past what was happening.

I stare too long at the picture from Tijuana.

Realizing for the first time the emptiness in my eyes,

Was that the first time it appeared?

It’s the first time I’ve noticed it.

As I look through your eyes at a night everyone else thought was so happy,

I wonder if you remember it differently.

What happened later, beyond the flashes of light before the flashing lights took you away for the first time.

What do you see when you look through your eyes,

Do you first realize that night the monster you’d become toward me?

Or did you see a girl full of life instead of one trying to escape it?

Sometimes, these pictures cause me to lose my breath…

Thinking of all the things that went wrong and wondering if it will ever be right again.

Other times, I smile because I have these memories,

Moments to look back to and smile upon since they capture only the happy times.

Even though I’d left my body and mind by then–

turning each day its own quest to complete to see if I’d wake up again,

those nights in Mexico were some of my favorite memories.

How can you hate what happened and yet love the person so much you can’t move on fully?

How can you feel so betrayed by yourself and the way the camera captures the moment,

Yet long for it to return at some level.

Long for an opportunity to smile so wide, love so deeply, and live so fully.

These memories of us.

Memories of what we wanted to be.

Memories of what we portrayed.

What I would give to hear your thoughts

To know your mind

To hear your perspective of what happened

Which corner turned out to be the one that we shouldn’t have walked around.

To know when was the moment it went from “We can get past this” to “I’m leaving without looking back.”

I don’t know if I envy your ability to never wonder “What if?” or am hurt by how you made a decade feel like research for the world’s saddest romance novel.

For now, I’ll stare at these scattered memories of moments we shared,

perfectly covering this desk so I can see them vividly and step into each moment,

And wonder if exploring those ghost towns in Arizona felt like an adventure to you

or a metaphor of what would one day come of our love.

~Shell Vera, 2024

If you liked this poem, here are other’s I wrote in The Writer’s Library.