Where do the things we lose end up? Our old toys, loose change, half-used ballpens. The bruises from our first fall, the memories we've repressed, our childhood friends whose names and faces we've forgotten.
Poems and stories that have never made it unto paper. The people who've left and never returned.
I imagine a place where all of the things we've lost have gathered. Where we can go through piles of clothes that no longer fit us, pages of journals we've once burned, forgotten memories seen from the eyes of our three year-old selves; and find something that will retell to us a moment that truly spun our lives around, or answer a question we've long harbored, or reveal something we've tried to burry in us for such a long time.
Maybe it be a faded photographs, shards of a long lost memory, the echo of a familiar voice. We'll spin it around our fingers, hold it in our palms and feel its weight, never wanting let it go, never wanting to lose it again. Maybe a small voice inside us will even surface, saying..
"This is where I belong. In the place where everything that has been taken from me, everything that has just slipped away, can be found, I will stay. I feel complete here."
YOU ARE READING
POETRY THAT STAYS
PoezjaYou don't really love someone, not until they become the person behind of your poetries. When poetry speaks, it echoes through your soul, lingers in your heart, and dances in your dreams. And... it stays. I wrote poems enough for people to ask, "w...
