little notes

pressed flowers

in the pages of this old book

or that tiny so and so

you found somewhere

years from now

are signposts

to long forgotten days

time that is no longer

yet somehow is forever

beyond comprehension

to us lowly humans

in this life and these bodies

we inhabit

for some hundred years

what is it that lifts me?

like a wind blown into my heart

I am a kite

dancing upon currents

strong and delicate

pulling at the fibers

the shreds of this reality

what remains in dreams

so limitless

forever at my fingertips

as I leaf through this manuscript

and upon my lap

ancient pressed flowers fall

and I ask

who’s memories are these?


About binaryLady

Front-End Wiz and Full stack developer

One comment

  1. mum

    love this, love your writing!!

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