Photo albums

Photo albums, they make us relive memories, even the ones we hate the most. They carry stories, sometimes good, but most of the time, the bad ones. Here I’m, in front of the fire, burning one by one, without an ounce of regret, seeing the fire crumble them and burn it into nothing. Now, these photos are ashes, and no matter how hard anyone tries, it can’t be put back, and all that remains is this dark matter, which flies with the wind to somewhere I don’t want to know. By burning it, I’m setting them free. They can travel anywhere they want till the wind disintegrates every little bit of their remains. And with time, even the remaining bits of  memory I have of them will decompose into nothing, and if anyone tries to revive those memories, they will burn.

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