change

I take photographs.

No, not professionally. Far from it. I take pictures of

people and happenings.

Moments

that are too fleeting to be captured by mere human recollections.

Because we forget, you know.

And some of us forget sooner than others,

even after having promised to remember.

I collect them, photographs. As a way to remember.

Lest we all forget — aye, I too.

Of moments and lifetimes,

Of victories and losses,

Of laughter and sadness,

Of passions and venom,

Of meetings and passings.

Memories

trap us

fail us

stir us

call us

halt us

scare us

soothe us

bring us

back to

the moment,

the feeling,

the love — even when all has long departed.

Because all will, you know.

Like a poet once said,

“Nothing

gold can stay.” But he speaks only partial truth. For

nothing

stays,

not silver nor bronze nor metal nor wood nor paper nor flesh nor feelings nor deeds nor thoughts nor words.

everything,

everyone,

changes.

And I, for one, struggle. A love-hate

connection, if I may. (Just give me this, for

change is too

colossal a

concept to

comprehend.) I embrace

change, although it often feels like I’m free-falling to an unpredictable end

(Stark news: none of us will survive this.) But

change is part of life as long as we have breath. Inventions, adventures, innovations

come with

change. We zoom through life through time, letting go of the past and

craving the new. The hyperspeed of

change that goes and goes and goes

unsatisfied, unstoppable, untethered.

But oh!

If only I can ask time to stand still, to

pause

to

breathe

for a brief second and let me

remember

things as they were

us as we were

me as I was

So I keep a photograph.

Or two.

Or three.

In hopes that in this hyperspeed journey we are on

That I might.

remember.