Covered by the settled dust of time,
misplaced in the depth
of moments long forgotten,
a plain old shoebox waits to be rediscovered,
even if only for a brief encounter.
It is here, where paper and ink together,
hold onto an eternal promise
of a love once precious, once real.
Faded pages uncover feelings
long since buried, under the weight
of a relentlessly bleeding wound.
Like falling snow sparks the mind
to gaze in wonder at such beauty,
it quickly turns to thoughts of
the dirty, salted mess
that lingers long after.