The pictures that hang on these walls stand frozen in time. Ghosts haunt these frames like that of a thousand confederate soldiers lined for battle. The stories that lie beneath each image is too hard to recall. Because how could a person ever discern someone’s character by just a little picture on the wall?
The pictures remain silent; no person speaks inside them. Yes, it’s impossible, I know, because no photograph can speak of a figure’s past or future. Pictures hung on the wall only capture a moment in time that once was fleeting. A moment that’ll once was stolen and never returned.
The ghosts on the wall remain a mystery to us all, for those people are strangers that could have been kings or queens. But alas forever remain the figures that swirl and dance around in my head because I don’t know them or the things they did in this world. They could have been monsters or saints; I’ll never know because all that remains is a sliver of time, a moment that has come and gone.
And one day, my picture will be unrecognizable to someone on the outside. But until that day, I suppose I’ll continue to fantasize about the pictures that hang on the wall.
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