Without them

The old photo album has been resting on the top shelf. It's been lonely. Luckily enough, dust has kept it company, when not even sunlight would stop by to say hello.

A thin shadow wanders, from time to time, through its hidden pages:

I wonder if I am allowed to open it and shake it out of its silence. I bet it could use some new company.

It doesn't resist my swing. I keep it hanging on the thin obscurity of my shadowy form.

"Who are you?" I ask.

It doesn't utter a word. Yet, its grey ancient cover gets out of the way and lets me observe the pale-yellow, fragile pages.

Gently, a black thin line starts contouring what I distinguish to be some sort of frame. An image fades in soon, as the laughter of a newborn child surrounds me like delicate background music.

I can see an old photograph showing the most warm look, the most comforting smile: a mother's. The picture with the mother cuddling her baby seems so familiar, still I cannot figure out why..

Other photos appear as I look through the time-devoured pages. Pictures of happiness and fulfillment, pictures of humor and laughter, pictures of people joined by an undefined force.

I cannot understand how I, a rambling shadow, can feel so at home while watching the ancient film of these blessed moments. How come I suddenly feel imprisoned by this strange feeling and I don't even want to escape? What is this feeling anyway?!

As I reach the last page I notice a drop of sunshine rolling down my figure. The dusty aroma of time lingers in the air around me.

Family; that's what I've been missing.

The sweet comfort of knowing I'm protected, knowing I have a Home to come back to. The warmth of a certain smile, of certain words. Mom, Dad.

I am not afraid of crying anymore, because I know my tears won't go to waste. There will always be a hand ready to catch them and keep them in the right place.The feeling of belonging.

What have I been without all these?

Oh, yes, I vaguely remember: a mere shadow wishing for the company of an ancient photo album.