At 3:43am

A punch.
A hard, gnarly punch in the gut. I felt it when I went through all our old pictures. You only read about this punch in the gut but I felt it today when I saw the people in those pictures, ran an eye across the room and failed to spot any of those faces around. I felt it when I realised these pictures were from  two years ago. The fist stuck to the gut and ground itself in more firmly. I wanted to somehow magically put my hand through the picture and pull us out here again but we will never be what we were. Now I can't decide if that's good or bad. This exact question will probably cling to me for quite a long, long time.
Some times, I don't know what's more unsettling: the amount of time which has passed by this speedily or the thought that we've moved ahead too far to ever go back to being the way we were. But then I ask myself if I want to be let gone of the same way. I remember my position in the scheme of all things. I see my own lack of power over our time and I also see the necessity of change. So I keep the pictures away in a safe place and I let you go.