Years later,
an old young photo
dropped
on the floor;
I was cleaning my
desk,
Picked it up.
A young me in an old
photo
I looked closely,
With my glasses.
Curly black hair,
sporty smile shining
out
broad and bold,
dreamy eyes
at the camera,
ready to write unknown
stories,
bring the moonlit
nights
sunshine days
from the oceans...
The faded color,
the line in the middle
that spoke of time,
lied.
Now
I look at my frame
With the young mirror
in front
that my hand holds...
In the midst of
changes,
Nothing has changed.
I place the photo on
the table.
Dedicated to a friend
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