(Excerpted from a fictional piece)
One look at the snap, and you said, "Fucker, this does not look like me at all. Even in this B&W image, my greys are visible."
"....and you don't have greys, is it?"
"I might, but I don't want people to see it. Makes me feel like I am 60 year old. I am not there yet."
I thought you were goofing so I played along. Teasing you further, almost pointing to signs of age on your face, which you probably had not noticed yet. I am a photographer, I see little details, or so I thought (Thats a curse right?).
The "goofing" quickly became a faceoff and tears got imbroiled. I promised you that I would retouch the image and send it over. Silently, I escaped the scene.Like all other buried differences, I never sent you those photos again. I did not retouch them. I decided to buy my silence.
Yesterday. I was searching for a specific image from my trip to Turkey. I organize images by the year. Your snap with the grey hair came up. I looked at you, smiling, laughing, hair all over. My heart buzzed like a bee.
I adored you then, I long for you now. I still have your photos. Those are the memories I carry. That means I cannot remember you with "all black" hair. The snap tells me you had grey hair.
Spin - I have the bottle. You are long gone, but the anxiety is trapped in.
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