My Dad Used To Say That Living

People Changed. Even The People You Thought You Knew As Well As You Knew Yourself.

In Half Hour My Mother Has Managed To Give Me What My Father Couldn't: My Past.

This Is What I Like About Photographs. They're Proof That Once, Even If Just For A Heartbeat, Everything Was Perfect.

When It Comes To Memories, The Good And The Bad Never Balance.

Is It Because They Are So Comfortable, They Already Know What The Other Is Thinking? Or Is It Because After A Certain Point, There Is Simply Nothing Left To Say?