It scares me how hard it is to remember life before you. I can't even make the comparisons anymore, because my memories of that time have all the depth of a photograph. It seems foolish to play games of better and worse. It's simply a matter of is and is no longer.

The speaker describes how an intense relationship can overwrite the past: life “before you” becomes flattened, like a photograph—visible but no longer lived from the inside. The line rejects ranking the past and present as “better” or “worse,” suggesting that love (or loss) changes the very terms of comparison. Instead, time is divided into two states: what exists now and what has ceased to exist. The tone mixes awe and unease (“It scares me”), implying that devotion can be both grounding and destabilizing, because it reshapes memory and identity so thoroughly that earlier selves feel unreal.