#204

it stared back at him, a grainy black and white, an obvious shaded corner from a haphazard finger covering the lens. a moment in life that felt like many incarnations ago.
he set it on the bare table, not taking his fingertips or eyes away. relationship without ego meant nothing to him then. there was no universal community. despite the ornate pagoda, her young smile remained the focal point of the picture. her insecurities the focal point of his youth. he'd been too brash, too arrogant, too hard. remembering the slow fade of life from her eyes, he quickly turned the photo facedown.
maybe if he'd learned to write a poem, or at least read her one. maybe if he'd taken any time to notice that no one withstand one-way love. maybe if she'd seen a glimmer of selflessness.
love is wasted on youth, and youth is wasted in ungratefulness and uncertainty.
a horn blew to signal dinner. sliding the picture into his antaravasaka, he prayed as always, for her next life, for her forgiveness. one day, peace would come.