“Hey, photo boy.” She slipped her hands over my eyes, cutting off my vision, right before I pressed down quickly, clicking my camera.

I gently pried her hands from my face. Her long brown hair swirled around her, catching in between her lips and under her nose. Her beautiful blue eyes held me, pulled me in, gave me no chance to run. Why couldn’t I just have her for a little longer? Her slender fingers ran along the length of her eyebrow, what she does when she’s nervous. “What’s bugging you?”

She let her hands drop along with her eyes, let me lace my fingers through hers.

“I don’t want to leave. But take a picture of me.” She looked up, hope glinting in her eyes. “Please?”

She knew I couldn’t. Knew I never deleted anything off my camera. Knew I didn’t want her to leave, but was powerless to do a thing. Knew I didn’t want a reminder of that hair, those eyes.

A reminder of that love we had shared. Even if it hadn’t lasted long enough.

I watched her face, memorized her features. No, not long enough at all.