The chords of the past
strummed on her guitar.
Dancing, laughing, crying...
the very start.
The faded jeans
worn material of which
memories and emotions embedded
quietly in each stitch.
The falling apart novel
that lies open...
page 46 on her desk.
The pages sighs softly
happy for once to be at rest.
--
The brown leather of suitcase
now propped up with her hand
the worn blue jeans
packed in and crammed.
The crisply folded
yet browned plane ticket
lies heavy in her pocket,
a life lost within it.
Now those baby blue curtains
that she has grown to hate and love
pulled gracefully down
with a simple tug...
And now as she sits
watching her childhood come to an end
she pulls that same old guitar
from underneath her bed.
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