I bought a box
of old photographs
snapshots of other peoples lives
I guess it's a form of voyeurism
spying on the past of someone I don't know
I've been sitting on park benches
watching people go by
making up stories about their lives
writing screenplays about a passing pedestrian
distractions
but none of them do the job
all the stories have someone like you in them
I see your face
your face
in all those old pictures
selling love
and selling my soul
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