While digging through a steamer trunk
in my dusty, cluttered attic
I came across an old photo of me
at fifty five, smiling,
with my arm draped over the shoulder
of a stunningly beautiful woman.
In the background you can see
the skyscraper where I worked.
The truly odd thing about this photo
(and yes, I am aware just how odd it is)
is that I am just shy of forty six years old,
and work in a vastly different office building
only three stories tall.
Nevertheless, I recall the moment clearly
when this photo was snapped.
The tie I’m wearing I got for Christmas
when I was fifty.
There is a stamp on my left hand
from a concert we attended the night before.
And the woman in the photo,
laughing, clinging to me,
wearing a sun dress that I bought her
is my daughter,
who is now only eleven years old.
She looks happy, and that makes me happy.
The me that is
looks at the me that will be
and all I can think of is…
the me that once was.
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