When photos are all you have left. A window into a moment of sheer unadulterated joy. People die you know. They really do. And so how it feels to look at a photograph like this. The the two extremes of emotion, felt together, the elation and the sorrow. It doesn’t even out. No, you feel them both simultaneously. And oh God, I don’t know what that feeling is.
And even Cliff Richard looks down from the telly, some sort of apparition.
And you have to wonder, will she feel that sheer unadulterated joy again, wherever she is? Does she feel anything at all? Or is she just nothing.
I can’t get my head around it.
But I’ll still look at the photo. Look at the moment, as it was, fixed in time. Like that stupid Bernard and his watch programme.