Untitled (That Summer)
A pile of pictures, all shot last summer (or the year before, I don’t remember), sits on a dark corner of my bookshelf. Facing down, without being put in an album, they are kept rather carelessly. Printed repetitively on the back of them are Kodak Royal/FujiFilm Crystal Archive logos, along with some numbers and alphabets.
Out of a strange obligation, I take a look at them once in a while. But every time I do so, I feel like as if my memory is going stale and dry. Feeling stupid, I throw them on the desk; yet, from the back of the photos, the memories comes out like ghosts. I flip one of them once more, but there is nothing to be found.