the photo booths are mystical.
the photos superior.
black and white, finer lines.
efficient, paused, a moment of laughter.
laughter. it left when you did.

but the photo booths,
the pictures we never took.
their absence proves yours, you didn't exist
and you're that much less alive for it.

but if we had what would we be
a simplistic black and white memoir
an allusion to simplicity and sentiment
we were never simple, nor did your sentiment linger in my world
we were a disaster, and not even a beautiful one.

yet I had a smile then.
or perhaps i convinced myself i did,
convinced myself i wanted you.
you are never alone in a photobooth photo
and perhaps that's why we never had one
I could not photograph a ghost.