and we're slow to acknowledge the knots in our laces

For the girl with a broken heart, for the boy who said he would, but didn't know how. For the girl making suggestive gestures, for the boy who was locked in a closet. For the girl always perfect, for the boy who may have waved at me, but I looked away. NOT for the man on my bus who smelt of cabbage.

I need to get my film developed before I'm too old to remember when the photographs were taken.