This Photograph is my Proof.

This photograph is my proof. There was that afternoon, when things were still good between us. And she embraced me, and we were happy. It had happened. She did love me. Look, see for yourself.

Don't we all have those days?

You walk away from a part of your life, and you wonder whether or not it actually existed? Was it all just a figment of my imagination? Did it even have any meaning? People change with time, and we always forget what they used to be, it's like there's only one slot of memory for them, and it overwrites the previous entry when they change. I wonder... Did she ever love me? Did I love her? It was a long time ago, wasn't it? Now... We're different, aren't we?

Time erases memory, and memory is the only thing we have to prove our existence, our past. Except pictures. Pictures save us. And condemn us when we can't recall what they mean.

Our uncertainty is our weakness. My uncertainty undoes me.