There's three of us in this frame,
We're all smiling, laughing.
But you're not smiling the way I am.
There's a hint of nostalgia in your eyes,
Bittersweet as the raspberry lemonade in your hand.
And you're facing me, not the camera.
I don't know what you're looking at,
But you'd think from just this one shot,
Maybe it's me. And what are you thinking?
Memories, perhaps? The past. Or maybe the future?

On the next page, you're smiling just the same,
Facing the camera, mouth wide,
But eyes still in the past.
I've got my arm around your shoulder,
And your eyes are glittering with the flash,
Wide, pupils in the far corner.
There, of course, but distant,
Again thinking more than I ever did.
I lived that moment, never realising,
Never following your eyes and where they led me.

This is from longer ago, and there's more purity,
In your smile. Less thought, only joy.
Gleaming pupils pointed straight to the camera.
And I note with a smile that you're drinking
Raspberry lemonade again, but to me it's a sweeter moment.
This is what we will be nostalgic about,
The memory, rather than the remembering.