In the hush of college days, I searched my childhood closet hidden, quiet ground, Sorting through relics long forgot, Discarded garments, trinkets sought.
On a dusty shelf there lay, A time-worn box, in disarray, Its lid with crayon drawings bright, Of princesses and cowgirls' flight.
Toys from yesteryears peeked through, Vessels of wonder, stories true, An envelope, so worn and thin, My mother's love, her script within.
"Anni's pictures," it softly said, A memory stick, my past to thread, I plugged it in, with heart alight, Hoping for glimpses of lost delight.
Captured moments filled the screen, Hundreds of snapshots, scenes serene, Birthday cakes, schoolyard's cheer, Grandparents' smiles, forever near.
Yet joy was tinged with loss's pain, A photo of my father's reign, Promises broken, love now frayed, His absence, a shadow cast, and stayed.
But there she stood, my rock, my friend, Samantha, grinning without end, At twelve we dreamed, our paths did part, Yet friendship held within our heart.
At the box's bottom, a diary closed, With secrets, musings undisclosed, Resisting the urge to pry inside, For some memories must in shadow bide.
With closure found, I stored away, The pictures, for another day, In quiet room, nostalgia stirred, "Remember, dear heart, where you've been," it purred.
YOU ARE READING
The Tortured Poets Department
PoetryPoems about the world's most famous cat lady, the queen of Poetry, Taylor Swift.
