Photographs

Photos

Boxes and boxes of photos

They tell a story

Don’t they?

From the very beginning

The Prodigal’s childhood

Huge smiles

Grins from ear to ear

Beach blonde hair

Mischievous blue eyes

He and his sister

Holding hands

Scheming strategies

Planning plays

Memories…

He…

A happy child

Bright beyond his years

Each picture

Snatches back

A glimpse

Of what was…

Compiling

Organizing

Scanning to discs

The chapters

That chronicle his life

I sit

I ponder

I wonder at those years

What are his memories?

Are they the same

As mine?

Does he reflect

Happy or sad

Fearful, anxious, depressed

Did we live a lie

Were we co-conspirators

To a saga yet to be lived out

Did those external smiles

Mask internal frowns

Anguish beneath the surface

Untold to those that loved him

When did he turn

From

Carefree to anxious

Cheerful to troubled

Hopeful to hopeless

When?

Oh…

To be able to rewind

The years

To that moment

That turning point

When the switch was flipped

From light to dark

Did it happen gradually

Were there signs that I missed

Too busy

Too distracted

Too what?

Or

Was there an event

A happening

That turned the tide

From low to high

Calm to stormy

Were we all blind

To the pictures taken

That lay undeveloped

Those hidden away in his soul

Screaming and scratching torment

That only he knew

That only he knows