Old photographs.

    It's funny how we feel about photographs. No one ever just throws them away. It's as if we all knew they were more than imprints on sheets of paper.   
    My wife had taken the kids on a walk through the park. It was an unusually sunny Sunday afternoon of early spring, of those that remind you summer is around the corner. I had finally decided to sort our rather large stack of photographs, partly as an excuse to spend some time on my own, I must confess. As always, I got lost in memories. Birthday parties, vacations, a few weddings. That summer day on a beach in Greece with my parents and my brother. That ex girlfriend who I believed had broken my heart forever. Moments that were forgotten were all of a sudden remembered as many uninvited guests.
    I had lost track of time and of course hadn't managed to get much done that day. In that photo trance of sorts, I felt something rather odd. As if I was being watched. The feeling was faint at first until I couldn't help but check if I actually was alone.
    I was holding a picture of myself on my tenth birthday. I was wearing a grey shirt with a teddy bear printed on it. I had received many gifts on that day, my favorite was a robot that transformed in a jet fighter. I remember I didn't quite get the transformation process and had my older brother do it for me for a while until he got tired of it and actually sat me down and explained me how to do it.
    Ten year old me was staring at the camera, smiling. And, as I was looking at him, I realized he was looking back at me. I felt a chill on my back. My heart was racing. I was feeling a strange unsettling familiarity, akin to looking at a character that seems human but isn't quite.   
    I put down the photograph and tried to gather my thoughts. Then I looked back at it. The sensation was still there. I was certain that the little boy I used to be was staring at me through the picture. I feverishly went through the other photos. Every time someone was looking at the camera and my eyes met with theirs, I felt the same thing. They were all looking back at me.
    I went out of the apartment to escape from hundreds of staring eyes. I breathed deeply trying to regain some composure and started thinking. We used to think that a camera could capture your soul. What if it was at least partly true? They say eyes are windows to the soul. If a camera makes a connection with them, does it take pieces of it? Those copies of yourself on the photograph, do they have feelings and emotions? Perhaps they are aware of being trapped in a moment for eternity. What about us? Can someone be over photographed until he or she is left without a soul?
    I've never told anyone about this. I know it sounds delirious. You probably think I was in a fit of paranoia. Don't worry, I've never felt like this again. I know however that I will never treat a photograph lightly, or a camera for that matter.