A Box of Photographs - Limabelas

Photograph #126

The interior of a hotel room, one you don't recognise, but suspect you have seen before. From the outside. The girl is lying on the bed, on her side. Head resting on her arm. Gazing at the boy, who is kneeling on the ground, shoving something into a large travelpack. His brow furrowed in concentration. Hers in sadness.

Photograph #127

The boy is standing up now. The travelpack on his back, enormous. He has the girl in his arms, her face buried in his chest. His lips pressed against her head, his eyes closed. Her arms hang limply down at her sides. You put the photo down because it makes your heart feel like lead.

Photograph #127

This is a photograph of a hotel room, from the outside. Door, window, table, chairs. You've definitely seen it before. This time it's day time. There is nothing outside, nothing on the table, nothing hanging from the chairs. But though the curtains are drawn, you can tell that there is still someone inside. Only one, small, sad person. Lying on the bed, face down. Or crumpled in a heap on the floor, or curled up against the door. You wonder how you could possibly know this. You just do. Because your leaden heart told you it was so.