I met with a woman I have never seen before.
Draped in loose, textured fabric
She holds up a picture that I find familiar.
It is a picture of me.
Or who I once was.
I am smiling in this photo.
What am I smiling at?
That, I could not answer.
It’s funny how,
Even a photo couldn’t jog my memory.
And isn’t a photo supposed to be worth a thousand words?
Only one word comes to mind when I look at this photo:
The dread that,
This smile will disappear soon.
And I will be left with a permanent scowl.
Oh, what a happy life.