She was sitting on the floor, picture-perfect memories scattered around her. A half-full glass and a bottle of Merlot at a hand distance on the right and an empty box on the left.
The photographic evidence of the past few decades was speaking of ups and downs, smiles and tears, and a life lived to the fullest. No regrets, so to speak.
There was her first love grinning over a birthday cake. There was her hazelnut beauty dog looking at her as the one and only. There were her best friends who took her own life years ago. There was the rather insensitive photo taken by her brother right at the moment the judge granted her the divorce.
A long sip of the Merlot followed by a panoramic view of all these memories…
Some things went horribly wrong. In others, she got more than lucky. It was difficult to draw the line and decide if she was more on the positive side. Every experience was unique, every outcome had its good and bad.
She rolled a joint for her self-diagnosed glaucoma and lit it up. Two short puffs followed by a long take. Another sip from the Merlot.
She was in her late thirties and regarding herself still somewhat young. But what was age? Already three of her classmates she sat within school and university had left this world by their own choosing. Their faces were right there in the pictures.
She tried to focus on something cheerful. Her glance stopped on the photographs from her second honeymoon and then the third. She vouched to dedicate a week each year to repeat the honeymoon with her second husband.
Picture perfect graduation photos followed. Three universities in three different continents. All fulfilling and treasured experiences. If those moments could be relived…
The bottle is almost finished, another joint long gone…
She was thinking what could have nudged the balance towards the positive side. If she could have, would she have done it differently?
Perhaps, there wouldn’t be so many lines across her face now… Or probably not.
She fell asleep right there on the floor amongst the picture-perfect memories. She didn’t dream. Not even a bit.
Photo credit: Pablo by Buffer
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