It's strange how a ____ can hold so much power. I sit here, holding an old, ____ picture in my hands, and it feels like I'm ____ a piece of my soul. The people in them photograph ____ back at me, their faces ____ in a moment of happiness that seems almost ____ now. I trace the ____ of the photo, trying to ____ the day it was taken, trying to ____ the feeling of that moment. Time is a thief. It ____ away the little things, the details that made those moments special. The sound of ____, the warmth of a hug, the smell of the air - all of it fades, leaving behind only the ghost of a ____. I look at their faces, so familiar yet so distant, and I feel a pang of longing. How I wish I could step into that photograph, just for a moment, to relive those days when everything seemed ____, when happiness wasn't something I had to search for.

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