In the farthest corner of the attic,
stacked in a worn cardboard box,
I uncovered photographs of my long-lost love —
valuables bound by brittle cardboard and time.
A vacuum of silence, thick with years,
gave way to treasures I once called mine.

An ache — long dormant — stirred awake
as I brushed away layers of dust, cobwebs, and grime,
fingers trembling over faded corners.
Each picture, overturned in hush,
unlocked a tide I thought forgotten.

While nostalgia tightened its grip,
a smile crept across my weathered face.
There we were: laughing, living,
our tender moments stilled in silver halides.

Powerless, I closed my eyes —
and time spilled down my cheeks
in quiet, uncontested tears,
the spirit of memories
rising from where it had been sealed for years.

.    .    .