I hold the photograph at arms length. Hoping that if I can just... catch a ray of redemption at the right angle, it will assuage me of my embarrassment.
The picture? Myself. Peak physical health, glossed with narcissism.
Black and white, cracked and faded. Written with spidery pen on the top margin;"Glory Days".
A frozen frame of time that hasn't even happened. Bleached and faded. A reminder of the Yet. A mental note I made for myself to keep me from forgetting my sustained mortality and encroaching obsolescence.
I force myself to stare into the square. Accept reality.
The only result is to be seized by panic. And the suffocating desire to copy the photo in triplicate. From every imaginable angle.
10:37 p.m. - 2014-09-04
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