Pictures are proof that memories happened,
I am in love with this picture of you.
I have so little faith in myself sometimes,
that everything must be captured.
Bubbles of fear in golden champagne
ants in the graveyard pocketing breadcrumbs,
cherries awash the ground, laden the trees.
I am so fearful I will not remember,
or worse, that I am not real at all,
nothing more than evaporating pixels
in a wasteland of selfies.
There must be more to recall than
this is where I was, this is what I wore,
this is what I ate, who I loved, who I miss-
who was there when I was present,
proof it happened,
proof of life.
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