The printed photograph keeps alive the emotional photograph, the salve that bonny memories bring.
I used to never look at my best photographs, always afraid that they would become worn, sun bleached or damaged. I was mistaken. These pictures are just conduits to my best memories, the ones that are not fantastic enough or traumatic enough to leave a permanent mark on their own. My recollections are quite the opposite of these celluloid stills, unless I visit them often they will fade; and with them the very best of everyone who has blessed my life will vanish from my mind also- as if none of it ever happened. It was in those quieter moments of joy I saw the people beneath their troubles. I saw my mother's love and my fathers child-like spirit. I need those memories to stay with me, I need them to soothe me when the bad ones threaten to erase all traces of those people I still hold dear, even in their absence. They are the evidence of the beautiful souls that belong even to those who made the worst mistakes. And who am I to judge? Enough stress can change the best of us, even me.
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