Stranger

What was it like to feel like that;

to smile like that;

in a way that was not forced

or masking a great pain?

My eyes scan the glossy photos,

desperately searching for something familiar.

Who was this girl with the content expression,

did she sense nothing of the road ahead?

Something in me wants to scream at her

for being so gullible,

for expecting so much,

for not knowing this could happen.

I can hardly look at her,

feeling disgusted,

or envious,

or both.

Something in me wants to shake her,

to warn her,

to help her prepare.

I wish I could save her

from the grief that will gray her blue eyes,

and the worry and pain

that will bring wrinkles in her twenties,

and a dullness to her face.

It was only ten months ago,

how could she look so young,

so happy,

so carefree?

I wonder what it would take,

for that expression to return,

but know that the pain of this loss has made that impossible.

That expression,

that feeling,

is reserved for the innocent.

This girl who looks back at me from the photo,

this former me,

this wellspring of naive anticipation,

is now a stranger.

~Kristin Binder