Looking through an old box of photographs, I am reminded of how everything is constantly changing. Children grow up, people move, relationships slowly (or sometimes suddenly) disappear. This box of photos and trinkets, tells the story of where I've been and who I've been and the people who have left an impression. The meaningless, the forgotten… they aren't in there.
When I think about all the people I say are important to me today, I wonder – how long will they be here? When I pick up this box in five years from now, will they be anything more than a face in an old photograph?
How does one deal with that question? How do we carry around that kind of risk in our lives? Because for every face in every photograph, a piece of me is there, in that moment with them. And I can never get it back.
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