Bookshelves of Memory


Every second, every minute, every hour, every day,
Sweet memories enter your mind, where they are to stay,
Each one made of chapters and in those chapters, pages,
I choose the cover art, a title, and bind it,
Place it in my bookshelf, stash it away.

Shutting my eyes, I can visit the shrine,
Running my fingers across their creased spines,
Skim until I settle on one,
Its contents escape, my past is its present,
I feel it wash over me, feel it become mine.

Photo by Annie Spratt (Unsplash)

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