"childhood"

Another city bleeds into dawn, another memory bleeds into the present. That ache, just under the ribs, a whisper of what once was, a ghost in the machine of now. The echo of laughter on a tape, warped by time, played on repeat in the hollow spaces.

It’s in the drape of the fabric, the way it catches the light, a fading photograph you found tucked inside a forgotten book. A timestamp on the soul, a soft focus on yesterday.

Filed under: things we miss the most.