The swirling gusts of the wind engulf the man in its tight chilly embrace. His cloak provides him no comfort in the zenith of his location, an isolated clearing overlooking the ocean’s blue. The cracked earth beneath seems ready to give out at any moment’s notice, should a significant force come to disturb the fragile balance achieved. The seagulls scattered around call out to each other, creating a disturbingly peaceful cacophony of dissident noises. The sun, nearing the end of its descent for the day, casts its long parting light against the never-ending surface of the seemingly boundless blue horizon. Such a picturesque scene I have never been privy to. He closes his eyes to take in the scene before him.

Nestled within the man’s hand, tucked inside his trench coat, enveloped by the icy wind circling him, lies something barely visible to the naked human eye. His vice grip on the item threatens to rip through its being; yet it remains intact. In addition to the damage done by the man’s firm grasp, the crinkles on the photograph also portend the inevitable destruction of the antique. It is now that he slowly removes the tiny article from his innermost depths, an act done with ever-careful precision.

Pulling it out ever so gently, his act of uncrumpling the image reveals a few details about this parchment. The creases not only foreshadow the fragility of the piece, but they also tell the story of the photograph’s enduring the passage of time. That, because it is still fully whole as one item, regardless of how wreaked it is, it still remains, even through all that he’s gone through. Its prior location nearest his heart reveals how much he treasured and valued it. But now, taking a closer look at it, the man begins to behold new revelations.

Has he clung on to this for too long? Does this ancient item, worth its weight in age-old memories, still have value in what is, what may come to be? Or has the ship sailed, has the wind continued on with its sojourn, leaving him stationary and rooted to his spot, with just his past stuck to him? New things, new times, new memories; has he been completely left in the dust? Is there absolutely no chance that a miracle could restore the antiquated piece to its former glory? Yet, even if he could bring back what once was, would he want to? Does he care enough to try and make this happen, to see what has become of things? Or, even worse, is he just.. completely.. done?

If only he knew.

03.05.10, 3.25-3.45am
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It's been a while. I know. It's been hard to find the.. motivation to write. But tonight (or rather, this morning) hath presented itself to me. So here's the next, long awaited, delayed piece to come to fruition.