what good is a photograph of you?

Something I forgot to note about my visit to the Wee One's apartment last night (two nights ago, technically).

She had a photo on her fridge of me and the Sensitive Artist. I don't remember it being taken or even when it was taken. But, it was obviously in one of my old apartments because we were seated on my big blue couch of doom (how I miss that couch). I didn't have bangs, or they were clipped to the side. I'm favouring the clipped to the side theory, as it's been a /very/ long time since I've had no bangs. And when I didn't have them, I also didn't have that couch.

It's a very good picture and I begged her to scan it in. I look good in it. Happy. I don't remember a time when I felt as happy as I look in that photo. And I've been sitting here, all day, wondering what it was about my life in that photo-time that made me that incredibly happy looking.

I can't figure it out. And that's bothering me.

I want to be that happy again. I want to look like that again, with that same smile.