Pictures.
Photos,
of you,
rest dormant,
in a box that collects dust,
on my shelf.
Before you were gone,
these pictures,
were just developed pieces of paper,
with you in them.
Now,
as I look at these pictures,
a tear comes to my eye,
and I realize,
these aren’t just photos,
or pictures.
They area memories,
I’ll always keep.
The box has been dusted,
and will never collect dust again,
as long as I shall live.
~*~ Jill ~*~