Random memories of old times
resurface, like broken images
a family dinner, vastly spread garden,
a chat with my mom at kitchen table,
or just a day in school

These reminisces are fulfilling in itself
yet one feels an ache
of how you once existed in that time
and yet it doesn't seem to be real

I remember my mother getting ready
and how I used to watch her
wishing her not to go, for I would be alone again
oh the love I feel for her, haven't felt for anyone else

And through time
I have grown fond of those memories
wondering why, at the time
it din't seem so beautiful

These flashbacks of milliosns of tiny moments
are made up of all feelings we once felt
It is like stardust, with each particle a picture
we accumulate and blow it away
once the show is over.