The past has never done you wrong, or that’s how it feels, at least. The tint of rose almost starts to look like sepia when you glance backward, like old photos of people smiling without a care in the world. Because sometimes the memory fades, the details lose clarity, and all you’re left with are the photos. The story within the frame is the story you’re told in the end, because everything outside of it doesn’t matter anymore. And that’s how we live our lives, so sure of ourselves and the immutable images in our hands, because if it were that important, we’d have a picture, right?