faded photographs, taken yesterday

Nostalgia that was not quite tinted by melancholy
Wiping phantom tears from dry eyes
I can still feel the tracts of moisture running down my face
Or maybe that’s just the shower, where I went to hide the fact that 
No tears were shed
I thought I should have been slighted, so I stormed out of the room

 At a playground, a swing that a child already jumped off
Everyone around them yearned to reach the sky
I waited for the moment when I hit the ground 

 A disguise not yet donned, folded neatly for the morning
When the morning comes I no longer need it
I smile into the mirror
A white flower, in a white sink, with a steady drip of water
On black and white film, you can’t see a thing

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