If memories had form and feel,
The one I hold would be a worn silk thread,
Frayed at the edges, yet still it gleams,
A testament to love's enduring dream.
Its texture would be like sandpaper's gentle touch,
Rough enough to remind me of the pain,
Yet soft enough to whisper sweet nothings,
Of moments shared, though love was in vain.
It would be a leaf, crumpled and worn,
Once green with promise, now faded and torn,
Yet in its creases, a story unfolds,
Of laughter, tears, and a love that grew old.
This memory, a rose petal in my hand,
Delicate, yet resilient as the heart's command,
It holds the scent of what could never be,
A bittersweet reminder of love's mystery.
In its folds, I find the echoes of your voice,
A melody that haunts, a heart's rejoice,
Though rejected, it remains, a lingering sigh,
A memory that clings, refusing to die.
It's a piece of sea glass, weathered smooth,
A treasure found, though love's tide did not bloom,
Yet in its translucent heart, I see a glow,
A light that guides me through life's ebb and flow.
This memory, a patchwork quilt of pain and bliss,
Stitched together with threads of what could never be,
It warms my heart, though it brings tears to my eyes,
A bittersweet reminder of love's first, unrequited sighs.
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P.C: Pinterest
Writing: Mine
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