Stare at cracks in Ilfochrome images for days gone bye,
look to the past for hoping for warmth and try not to cry.
A kiss, a smile, a brush of hair, a tilt of heads to frame,
Reckless, raping reminders of how not to love again.
Remove your name from innocent images we share,
don’t look back, don’t worry, don’t pretend you care.
Will burning old photographs change one lonesome day,
a myth oft repeated, “time is a great healer” or so “they” say?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem