People come and go out of all of our lives.
But some make an especially strong impression.
When looking at photos of a special someone I used to know, I trace the lines that build his face, eyes, mouth, lips, and hair. I wish I had more photos of his back and torso, legs and hands, the rest of his body. But I am thankful at least that I have photos of his face. I can remember at least his face, even if the rest of him fades away as memories dull.
Actually, just such a fear prompted me to ask him to make a voice recording for me. I had deleted a previous one where he read some encouraging statements I wrote to remind myself that life could go on and that I could become a different person. That I could become a happy person or happier than I had been beside him.
However, this second voice recording was genuine, his own words, slightly goofy and sweet and included his natural intonation and even a cough.
That brief message and so many photos from our life together: these consist of the evidence of a history I may someday forget.
But for now, I can’t forget or move so far away. Instead, I trace lines of his face in my favorite photos. I trace the lines of a face of someone I used to know.