image source: google
Sometimes I find myself
digging through musty cardboard boxes,
I have kept hidden under the bookshelf,
gathering dust and earth.
Scouring letters
He once wrote and
I once promise never
to read again, a lie.
A faded photograph,
the one where he wore a blue shirt-His favorite,
Its edges, worn.
Movie tickets,
of films we watched in that
old cinema, a graveyard
of cold, extinct memories.
The tips of my fingers,
collect coarse dust as I search
ceaselessly for memories-
that have long been buried.
-lynn