A blackbird. Flick. A branch of a cedar reaching into the lake. Flick. Circles on the water surface. Flick.

It’s dark in the room. All you can here is the buzzing of the projector. The air has the familiar smell of chemicals dancing through the room. I am tired. It’s been a long day in a long year. I spent the afternoon by the lake, our lake. Taking pictures of things you would like.

The sun peaking through the grass. Flick. An older couple walking in distance holding hands. Fli - I flip back and stare a little longer at their silhouettes. A little sting shoots into my heart. I want to push it away, move to the next shot but somehow I can’t, my eyes stay glued. When you haven’t felt anything for a long time, you long for any sensation, even pain. Anything that reminds you that you are alive. The shot was taken from distance. The couple walking on the other side of the lake. Her in a red coat, him holding a stick. I remember seeing them. Not thinking much. When I photograph I get into this zone where the camera always moves without me doing anything. I often sit here later in the dark developing room seeing what I captured. As if I am more my own audience than creator. Enough. Flick. I captured more of them, I see now, using the full capacity of my zoom lense. I don’t recall taking more shots, but here they are. The couple slowly comes closer and closer with every shot. More details. More angles. My eyes scan the images as disbelief starts crossing my face. I must be dreaming. Red coat. It’s your coat. I would remember the pattern of green stripes in a million people walking by. Same long curly hair, not brown though, now grey. In one shot the woman is laughing, a dimple appears on her left cheek just like it used to on yours. Now the man appears behind her. I can’t believe my eyes. Tall, grey short hair, hager face, green eyes. My eyes.

This… is… impossible. I turn of the projector with a abrupt motion and the darkness consumes every specle of light. How is this possible. The couple looks just like us but 50 years older.

They say everyone processes grief differently. Maybe my choice of therapy had become insanity. I flip the projector on again. The couple is still there unchanged, laughing at each other. Undisputably you and I. Maybe I was truly going insane or maybe, maybe there was a version of this life where we survived. Maybe there was more to reality than I could capture with my own eyes.

What would I give to stand on the other side.