Looking through the scrapbooks of a past love
Is like walking through an art gallery alone,
Your sad, lonely footsteps breaking the taboo silence.
You look at different exhibits
And wonder if they are truly deep
Or just a simple combination of colors;
And in the search for something grander,
You begin to question yourself
And what kind of a person you are.
And at the end of your visit to the past
You are left feeling sad, small, and insignificant
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 4:10 PM UTC