I call them, “My” Memories.
Only I see them as I
No other holds the view which has been seen through my eyes,
smelled the exact scents to their degree.
To me cream was the boldest
Not the raging red or brilliant blue.
And cold was the comfortable
that blanketed me within the wind.
No one heard the hushed
peek-a-boo of play
whispered behind everyday hustles of background
Or felt the gentle tickles across the skin
given by the loose
strands of hair
which were swayed by the season’s gentle breath.
never be anyone to hold them as I,
and realize the preciousness they
. …they are mine…