! ! Whose Photos?

In the mind, there’s a photo-album stamped on the cover, My Photos? with a question-mark – the stranger’s profile, immortalised as they waited at the crossing lights; the face crumpled with laughter at the joke you missed, as you boarded the bus; the first glimpse of a future lover’s stance, expression meaningless: strangely unattractive, insignificant yet remembered; whose photographs are these? it’s as if some other mind borrowed your camera without your consent, to leave taunting hints of timelessness.