Sometimes, I take a stroll,
up the attic of my memories.
There, lying long forgotten,
lie the instances of my life.
A sight here, a fragrance there.
Mementos from my journeys.
Slowly fading into obscurity,
gathering
dust, unattended.
When I pick them up lovingly,
they come back to life, shining.
And instantly, I am transported.
To the ‘there’. In the ‘then’.
Nothing is for forever, really.
But what is, is ours, forever.
When I pick them up lovingly,
they come back to life, shining.
And instantly, I am transported.
To the ‘there’. In the ‘then’.
Nothing is for forever, really.
But what is, is ours, forever.
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