times that bloom

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

i gathered years,
slowly, and then all at once.
memories of childhood
with nostalgic tones,
more fiction than fact.
shaded with almost
painful innocence.
pressing events like flowers,
between the musty pages
of old books,
i look back often.
touching the brittle edges,
tentatively peeling them free.
cradling them gently
in the valley of my palm,
i can smell their fragrance,
long gone, yet as fresh as the day
i plucked them.
and in those moments,
when the wilted petals
come back to life,
my world in
glaring technicolour,
all that i have experienced,
presses close to me,
and i thrive.