In an old bedroom filled with art,
I tied my hair up, willingly about to go through the boxed mementos.
A wave of anxiety and nostalgia crash over me,
like The Great Wave of Kanagawa,
while I stood idly framed by the large, cresting waves.
I was born the day I learned how to love,
and cursed when I learned how to feel things too deeply.
Inside the boxed mementos is a timeless tale of two distorted hearts;
Wilted flowers, photographs, old handwritten letters...
Do we box these memories in fear of completely forgetting them?
It was a ticket to a sepia-toned memory lane,
Engulfing my heart and soul,
with memories that will forever be memories.
IA
Apr 23, 2020
Apr 23, 2020 at 12:32 PM UTC
In an old bedroom filled with art,
I tied my hair up, willingly about to go through the boxed mementos.
A wave of anxiety and nostalgia crash over me,
like The Great Wave of Kanagawa,
while I stood idly framed by the large, cresting waves.
I was born the day I learned how to love,
and cursed when I learned how to feel things too deeply.
Inside the boxed mementos is a timeless tale of two distorted hearts;
Wilted flowers, photographs, old handwritten letters...
Do we box these memories in fear of completely forgetting them?
It was a ticket to a sepia-toned memory lane,
Engulfing my heart and soul,
with memories that will forever be memories.
IA
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