a too late poem.

i've been looking for hours for old photographs i've taken of one person.

it started out as a desire to share the memories with this beautiful human's family members,

but i'm becoming less sure that i can or should.

when a young person is alive and then you find that they are suddenly not

you wonder too many things.

you remember the way you felt about them, this inexplicable pull towards a total stranger. 

reflecting this way retells the stories behind the pictures. 

i feel myslef shaking with laughter behind the camera, a smile so wide it hurts.

then i hold my breath for the quiet photos, remembering what it was to witness a person

so rare and wild and flighty. 

back when i was taking these photos i had to stop myself from snapping more.

i needed to make the photography rounds and collect more faces.

i'd say i had enough of this one face 

but i'd never feel it was true.

can you know that someone is not long for this world without actually knowing it? do you think that time can fold in on itself to compell you to take more photos of someone?

even someone you hardly know at all?

of all the things i am wondering i am mostly wondering what is keeping me awake at 3am

thinking about this young person who was alive but isn't.

can you really grow to love a stranger

through a camera lens?