Burnt Photos - Mel Afoa

She looks at her old photo album with sadness.

There he is, in every photo holder, his smile burning not only her heart, but her soul. She looks at him with yearning and anger. The tears fall silently as she pictures every memory from the photo album.

 She remembers the time they went swimming together. She can easily remember the way his arms wrapped around her waist, and how his arms caressed her face as his gentle lips made his way all over her body. She sees the photos of their adventure to Paris. She sees a photo of him holding frog legs and remembers how he dared himself to eat them to show his love for her. She immedietly jumped on him as soon as he swallowed, and she swears to this day, she can taste the frog legs delight as she kissed his perfect lips. She sees a photo of them two together, remembering how they ran across the picturesque, green grass and swung on the swings, her lips on his, arms wrapped perfectly around each other. She flips through each photo carefully, the memories about to explode her heart with sorrow. She kisses most of them, the ones she remembers as if lived only an hour ago. She kisses the photo, a random lady took, of her and him laughing, him holding her left hand in his, placing an engagement ring on her finger. She kisses the one, the professional photographers took, of him and her hugging in front of the beautiful sunset. She kisses the one of him smiling and hugging her parents, her mother wrapped in his arm, the other around her father, who beams at the camera with delight.

She kisses the photo of himself, dressed in nothing but boxer shorts, his hair wet and spiky after retuning from the shower. His smile is soft, and beautiful, his blue eyes gleaming at the camera with surpise, yet happiness. She remembers the moment after she snapped this photo. He had come pouncing towards her playfully, and snaked his arms around her, before carrying her off to the bedroom. She had squirmed softly, and giggled, wrapping her arms around him for love. He jumped on the bed with her, before curling up to her, and sneaking kisses along her jaw. She remember every detail straight after.

She turns the photo album to the back.

She sees the deadly photos that carry poison, carry heartbreak. She sees photos of their loved ones and friends carrying his black coffin out of the church. She sees a photo of the car that carries his dead, lifeless body to the grave. She sees photos of loved ones crying, tissues in every single hand. She sees a photo of herself, and notice in close inspection, that there are no tears in her eyes. She remembers on that day, she died. She could not move, could not talk, could not eat. She did not communicate with anyone, and only looked at the coffin, and the coffin alone. She sees photos of people throwing flowers onto the grave. A photo of the headstone is next, his birth and death date engraved, and the words, 'Love is He, He is Love', gently carved onto the thick, grey stone. She sees photos of him in his coffin, face grey, body dead, and she remembers that she will never be in his hold again. She flips towards the end of the photo album, to the very back. She sees that there is only one photo. The photo of her crying and holding onto the descending coffin tightly. She remembers leaping onto it, and banging on it, screaming at him to come back. She remembers swearing, and trying to open the coffin with difficulty. She remembers how the arms of his brothers and her brother prying to get her off.

She knows that burning these photos will make her lose him forever, and she has already lost him in body. She knows packing it away will only make her more paranoid, and make her yearn for more. But, it's not like their not burnt already. They are burnt, burnt deeply in her hear, burnt photos in her soul, burnt photos that are with him sitting silently in the grave, forever.