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Maybe you’ve got a friend who won't stop texting old photographs to you. I do. At any moment, I am one glance away from an uncomfortable saunter down Memory Lane. Gentle suggestions that he ought to reorient his attentions to the future haven't deterred him. The shots of me at younger, spryer, healthier ages can be tough to take. But for sheer destabilization, they've got nothing on the pictures of acquaintances I once had but forgot about entirely, or the pictures of people I'll never see again. Those can be a midday stomach punch: a reminder of the frailty of memory and the transience of all things.
