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Portrait of Memory



I hit my sister's hand, and before I run,
she tags me back.
The smile leaves my face as I realize that she has hit me last.
As we play, we laugh so hard and the days go so fast.
I did not understand these days would become my past.
Money, we don't have much.
Troubles, we don't have many.
But, love we have plenty.
Impatiently, I ask my mother, can I have a cookie?
"Say please," she replies with motherly ease.
Please.
"No sweetie, dinner is nearly ready."
So quickly, the boy is gone.
I am the man.
And I have so much to do,
so much to see.
I am so busy being me.
These memories have almost faded,
like your favorite shirt that has been washed once too often.
But I keep them safe, and close to me, in a portrait of memory.
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Written on October 07, 2007

Submitted by i12love on September 27, 2021

Modified by i12love

45 sec read
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