The Picture Frame

He looked at her like a blind man seeing the sun for the first time, with curiosity and interest. When she laughed his smile would brighten and he would let a slight chuckle out, even if it was a stupid joke, he laughed because he could see her smile. She could just look at him with her deep, blue eyes and his personality would change. She sparked something in him, and I saw it. I witnessed them fall hopelessly in love with each other. It was one of the most beautiful things I’ve seen. You could feel the connection between them, they would always stare into eachother’s eyes and then she would playfully punch his arm and then he’d pull her in for a quick kiss. They were a beautiful thing. When he lost her, everything went downhill. He wouldn’t dare look at the sun, he wouldn’t dare smile, he couldn’t laugh like he used too. Sometimes he would shove a smile onto his face and tell everyone ‘I’m okay,’ but I knew he wasn’t. I knew what he was thinking inside his broken body behind his eyes. I guess he just gave up on everyone. Alcohol became his only escape. I watched him slowly fall apart, not doing a thing about it. I watched him break down everyday. Sometimes he’d fall asleep on the couch with his beer hanging in his hand over the edge. He had stopped taking care of himself, and refused to leave the house unless it was for more alcohol. He’d often stare at himself in the mirror, whispering mean things to himself, and usually stayed there for hours upon hours. I’d held their closest memories, but he’d often just walk past me and ignore me, hoping that one day he would forget what happened and move on in life. Sometimes he would smile to himself when looking at the picture, but then the reality came and he cried. He cried every night. He knew he couldn’t move on. He couldn’t just forget about the love he once had and cherished. I watched him as he would wake up in the morning, his first task being to grab a cold one from the fridge that smelt of dirty cheese and old spaghetti. He’d become lost, lost like a blind man trying to find the sun for the first time. The last day I saw him he was at his worst. I saw the bottle of pills in his hands and heard crashing behind me. The sirens and police officers filled the house after days. An officer picked me up, pointed me out to the other guys. I couldn’t turn around to see him because I was just a simple picture frame, holding the memories that he had loved of the two. I was just a picture frame.