A withered picture,
in equally withered hands.
No memories lost.
Allow me to understand;
just how fast time flows,
like a storm.
It sweeps away our lives.
Vintage, paved streets,
forgotten escapes;
I cherish.
They manifest in their shapes.
Dated memories,
time can not touch.
How quick the flash,
a flash of memory;
immortalised.
A distant century,
time is not my master.
I can look forward at the past.
Mismatched faces,
no longer belong to their body;
not lost.
All belong to a story,
told through their movements.
Captured in their purest light.
A piece of art,
forever displayed, to behold;
by those it centers.
Encased in the fold,
fold of the paper.
Left to reminisce.
About the Creator
Sophie π
"Often lost in my own imagination"
Trying to figure out if I have any talent at all for writingππ¬
Would love to know what people think of my work
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