Looking Back . . . In Love?
Reflections on a Forgotten Object
As I shuffle my books around in the mahogany cupboard
My fingers brush against the dusty diary with faded pages
My eyes pause, my heart skips a beat because . . .
Because I know what secret the diary holds,
I know what pain it bears.
I pull it out with a careful touch
With years having smeared the fragrance of the forgotten days
The pages still hold my adolescent handwriting
The longings of my lonely heart
The only witness to my first-ever love story.
The faded, crunchy papers melt under the warmth of my fingers
As I turn to random dates
Looking for something and nothing at the same time.
A flash, an untimely time jump
The diary takes me back to the days of a less selfish world.
The first look, the first touch
Oh, I had been so meticulous in penning down every single detail
I wish my heart hadn’t been so sensitive
I wish it had been as cold as snow,
Like it is now.
My writings look so immature
An amateurish account of true love
The last few pages are still alive
Do they hope to get a better ending?
Can they rewrite the story of my life, loss and love?
#NaPoWriMo, April 1st 2024
