By Synthia Tashfi
The girl in the picture has thicker locks, While I shed more than the cat that lives around the block. The hair styled in layers, Tucked behind dangly earrings I don’t wear, The girl in the picture has a pretty, pretty smile, Something that I haven’t worn in a while.
The girl in the picture is clad in my mother’s sari, Poised with confidence that is clear even if the picture is a little blurry. It’s of old quality, it reeks of nostalgia and good memories, Of comfort and fun and breeze. The girl in the picture is happy and living, Yet here and now, she’s nowhere to be seen.
What’s here is me, just empty old me, The girl in the picture had ceased to exist.
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