A trained photograph,
Stored away in the attic,
Waiting to be discovered,
Contains a box full of memories.
Darker of a red rose,
Darker than vermillion,
With shades of dusk,
Tucked away in the pages,
Of a old notebook.
A chocolate wrapper,
With the scent of a woman,
And the taste of love,
Lingering on the dried ends,
Stuck up under the bed.
Ages and ages ago,
These souvenirs remained him,
Of her,a girl lost,
In the stnds of time,
Of love,soulful and unadulterated.
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