A Dusty Something

The tear as accidental as the find,
a black and white portrait of someone.
Her eyes averted and distant,
face of a liar or deep in thought,
Scars both deep and old seem to hide behind her face.

A stranger she is, but the picture speaks of something,
something I can't place.
Her clothes, her face, her hair, the background
speaks of a time long passed.

I found it in an album covered in dust,
full of pictures of girls,
most of hers, some of others.

As I look at it closer, I can see a small tear.
Behind it I could just barely make out something.
Curiosity gnawing at me, I slowly widen it with my finger.
Underestimating my balance, I slip and the tear widen more
than I wished.
But it served my goal.

A newer picture behind the older one,
also of a girl. She wore a white blouse of sorts,
she look a little like the one before.
But she look staged, like being posed.

A Dusty Something

Her blouse almost revealing, and from that small section her legs look bare.
Her arms look to be lifted or posed.
And her face,
how her hair rested upon her shoulder. How her eyes were closed and how the head was slightly tilted. I couldn't shake the feeling of something wrong as I stare at this two picture.

Trying to removed the older picture so that I can finally soothe that feeling.
Trying to not make the same mistake I used more care,
a creaking sound stop me.
My fingers froze as I felt something off behind me,
before I could turn and see.
A flash of pain and darkness as I hit the ground.

A slight warmness running down my face and the sight of a boot dominating my view as I slowly drifted into darkness.