Little Things
Memories are ones of a past long forgotten,
finding your reasons with keepsakes ,
so you can go back to them once ever so often.
Cementing a bond, that will either break,
or fade away with time or uprooted so badly,
that you find yourself filled with those memories,
of what once was and what could’ve been.
Regrets and guilt rip into your sides,
going through old photos, messages and mail,
that seemed glorious at the time but cringeworthy in hindsight.
You often wonder how people tolerated you at all,
when filled with doubt, misery and bouts
of depression, anxiety and insecurities,
When you have time to breathe,
you go back in time and smile
with a certain melancholy.
Buried with your shit and stuff, these keepsakes
are your mistakes of the memories past;
Burnt bridges and efforts built to naught
Learning from them or not;
Finding your way through through these brambles
called life pricking your skin or drawing blood;
The little things, the memories, your former bonds;
nostalgic or painful journeys;
but there’s always a story from a certain perspective
how you want to narrate, is your prerogative.
