You have a picture of me

Two of them.

Unlabeled. Not tagged.

I wanted to say something, but I suppose what has been said has been said. What is done is done.

I haven't thought about you or seen you in such a long while. I remember when, a summer ago it seems, when I made copies for you all.

You haven't changed. Not like I have. Either.

Why do you have those pictures of me? Why not hide them?

Unless you have nothing to hide. And yet two of them. Just of me. Nothing else.

Strange.