Seeing A Picture

Someone showed me a creased picture of you standing on the misty edge of the city. You were grinning like you used to grin when the thought of you distracted me from what I was doing. The grin that started at your eyes. I couldn’t stand to look at it, so I folded it back into their palm and walked away, looking at everyone I passed. No matter how hard I tried to confuse my memory with strange faces, my hand moved in instinctual longing. It stroked the air. No, I cannot disappear into crowds, you draw me out again.