photograph

In an envelope within an envelope found in the black flap of a leather bound journal that is kept in a special case, buried beneath piles of clothing is a picture. Black and white. The girl, beautiful with a silver chain around her head. The boy, not one to be described as conventionally handsome; his hat just tipped to one side. They are both smiling. His arm around her waist, her head on his shoulder. The spark of love, unmistakably there, jumping out into the 3^rd, 4^th, 5^th, 6^th and all other unseen dimensions that bridge time and space, discord and understanding. And you recognise them because you know them. Because you are them. And anyone who has ever loved is them. And this is just one of their stories.