My customary cleaning ritual helped me to find that box again.
That box...the one that holds the images that I stored away and the feelings that I shelved along with the pictures.
I looked at the two photographed strangers as if a curious voyeur.
It was a time when they were two pristine, unspoiled souls, whose slates were smooth and unblemished and ready to bare all to each other in an amorous tango that required no rehearsal.
It was a day of sunshine, waves, seagulls, repose on the rocky jetties on an unlikely January day.
It was arms and legs and silent embraces, captured in a glossy shape with a white border.
The two merely images now--no longer one, but two and far away from that unlikely January day.
