Photo

Looking onto the photo that marks a time too close to be called a memory. I view the image of my two young cousins embracing the love of a family that only knows how to show it. Victoria wrapped around my dad, relentlessly trying to shove the sweet tart candy down his throat, never letting the smile she held fall from the canvas that was her face.
In a family chain my cousin, Damica, embraces her husband, Rob, as he holds their son in his lap, keeping him up.
Excavating through my mind, I remember this night. Being weeks after my release from the depths of a binding embrace, my knee cried for the relief of high dosage pain killers. The struggle between it and attempting to subdue the wants of the young Ashley, who lays hidden with me and the ladder half of my family. Lying behind the frozen picture, only part of the story is revealed. The many people resemble, not the fair, but the result.
Coming back and embracing this past, I release the trapped memories hiding behind this one. Each seemed to exceed in date and importance. Ones that truly belong as memories, instead of this one.
Moments I've forgotten, are remembered through a photo. Why? I don't fear this question, time just moves on. It crams together every moment, trying to make sure to have every second locked away. In the end your brain makes every moment, the last one you had, only to be changed by a symbol.