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)