The Photos

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When you move around as much as I have, you end up with a very long list of people you never see anymore but still miss. If those people stay where you met them, there's a good chance you won't mean as much to them as they did to you. At least that's my theory. Because they still have all the comforts of home, the places where the memories are made are close by. They still go to the same shops, see the other people who knew you. You, the one who left, you get the raw end of the stability deal. You get pictures that lead to seemingly dead ends. 

I have a lot of pictures that, if I show them to my local friends or my kids, it would mean nothing to them. That blows. It means I have a lot of stories that, whenever I tell them now, require explaining bits that A) are tiring to explain and B)  are not exactly flattering reminders of past mistakes.  If you are around familiar people you don't have to explain that you have been married before - everybody knows that it was painful and they know you don't enjoy saying it. You don't have to say how awful college was, they probably knew you then. It would be no surprise how many houses you've owned, cars you've bought or places you've traveled. 
But if you are like me, familiarity is not a luxury you have.

I look at my pictures from time to time. Worst part is, I truly do miss the people in the photos. I wish they knew me now, my husband, my kids. No amount of Facebook can revive the friendships. They have moved on and, truly, it's what had to be done. But sometimes I wish I could tell them that I never forgot the things they said, that my loyalty to them is still strong. I'd be there if they ever need me.



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