The Past,The Love,The Memories

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Sometimes I find myself
digging through musty cardboard boxes,
I have kept hidden under the bookshelf,
gathering dust and earth.

Scouring letters
He once wrote and
I once promise never
to read again, a lie.

A faded photograph,
the one where he wore a blue shirt-His favorite,
Its edges, worn.

Movie tickets,
of films we watched in that
old cinema, a graveyard
of cold, extinct memories.

The tips of my fingers,
collect coarse dust as I search
ceaselessly for memories-
that have long been buried.

-lynn