Photo reblogged from I Wrote A Poem Once with 1,312 notes
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“She took pictures like that was all she had left.
“She had been a sickly child. She never truly recovered from one sickness. As she would be healing, another one would come on. Her childhood was a blur of misery and coughing, sneezing and aching. And loneliness. Oh, the loneliness. Never was there a child as lonely as she. And, through all this time feeling lost, alone, and useless, there was one person. One steadfast, assuring hand that was always there to hold hers. Though she was lonely, and felt usually unwanted, whenever he was there, she never felt that way. He brought happiness to her life, like the sun brings life and warmth to flowers. She was weak, sickly, and pale, but to him… She was beautiful.
“So, when he died that day, it was as though she died with him. She might as well have been in the passenger seat of his car. She was alive, in her body. But in her mind…
“After he died, she went on autopilot. She was a shell. There was no life, no soul in her. She hid behind her photography. She took pictures of everything. It was as though she hoped that, one day, she’d see him again. And she would give him all of those pictures. She thought he would be able to see what went on in her life after he was gone. The saddest part is, because he loved her so, he would have seen how empty she was after him. But, never once did she think of that. All she thought was that she’d see him again some day.”
Source: iwroteapoemonce