Old photos remind me of

so much time swallowed up

by the mouths of strife, mental illness, regret, resentment, needless anger.

They give me the determination

to stop wasting all the seconds gifted to me.

The images want to make me cry, to love fiercely at all times,

to exhaust myself and others

like I’m starring in an "It’s a Wonderful Life" remake,

running through the streets of town

screaming “Merry Christmas” all year long.

And I can’t stop thinking of a day where all that is left of me

is photons on a screen or ink on paper.

I imagine seeing a dead father through my children’s eyes

as they talk about the overweight, bespectacled, bearded man in the pictures

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