no more tragic tragedies

One night I sat through seven or eight years of memories.
memories captured by the pixels in a fraction of a second
all memorable memories, ofcourse
because who photographs tragedy, really.
there was a slight pride,
and this sense of normality.
maybe, we are not as screwed as I have thought since forever.

we were silly,
we were happy,
we were family.

or, maybe pictures just lie to reconstruct the past amiably,
by omitting the less desirable details.
whatever happened?
whatever brought us to this night where all that remained standing was division, due to pride.
where, each of us slept with isolated hurt.