The old photos made her conscious of her age, of how much time had passed - and of what an interesting life she’d had. It made the old woman feel nostalgic, all the years that had gone by, her path through life, made of joy and sorrow, though not in equal parts.

She stopped thumbing through them, picking one of the dust-covered pictures out of the pile. A smile spread across her weathered face, hand sweeping away the dirt. What was but a distant memory before, was then unfolding into blossoms of color, a sudden explosion of sight and sound, something old brought to life again.
What was it… sixty? Seventy years ago? The edges were fuzzy, but there was a certain clarity to it - gliding, flying across the floor, smiles from both she and her partner. Vibrant red graced her skin, hair wandering down her back in carefully styled waves. He was handsome, soft hands like butter, dark hair. Swing music played in the background, now only a whisper, a forgotten tune. What seemed like nothing special at the time came to mean so much more, all those years later. What was that song? That man, who was to become her husband, who was he back then? She couldn’t recall. He had changed so much over the years.
The old woman set the picture to the side, pulling her shawl tighter around her frail body. There were still more pictures to go through, and she had not even made a dent yet. She stood up, and with shaking hands, she picked up yet another box, setting it upon her lap as she sank back into the chair. Her bony hands closed around one album in particular, and she lifted it out, again swiping much of dust off with her hand.
Even before removing the cover, she knew what they were - her wedding photos. Another happy young woman, an alien wearing a familiar face. She was glowing, beautiful, bright red hair pinned back, a flowing white dress and veil. The same young man, warm and kind, with the same soft hands, the same round face. A very happy time, that of a union between two people. That happiness lasted through the years, waning at times but never dying. Though the people changed, in their hearts, their core, they knew they were still themselves, even if only in a twisted way.
The old woman smiled in reminiscence, wrinkles shifting to match her emotion. She set the picture to the side, and pulled out yet another one, this time from the very bottom of the box. She wiped the grime away, and pushed her glasses farther up her nose, straining to focus on the numbers.
1976, it said. Another picture, another memory, swelling into existence, yet sadder this time, sorrowful, a melancholic woman, older, veiled not in white, but deepest black. Crows feet lined her eyes, lines of laughter etched on the sides of her lips, signs of a life well-lived. Yet those lips were not stretched into a smile, not now. Instead, they were pressed together, tears streaming down her cheeks, mourning for her loss. The loss of whom was to be at her side, through joy and sorrow, through good times and bad - now lied in a bed of earth, eternally slumbering beneath the stone. She screamed inside, tearing at the edges, trying with minimal success to will herself out of existence...
The old woman threw the photograph back in the box, tears threatening to roll out of her eyes as she choked on her own despair. Old memories had been torn up, wounds that none had dared to touch for so long. Festering, infected, something long neglected. 
She was done for the day, she thought, and she had much to think about.