The Problem With Polaroids

Memories of my childhood are Polaroids of nostalgic cards instant colored snapshots of my every action from the day of my birth to the day I took my first steps from the day I first started school to the day I learnt to ride a bike I believed my childhood days would always be unfathomable the most colossal deception about life living that’s the problem I have with Polaroids Birthday number eighteen was the most unfavorable day of my puerile life the once flashy, picturesque Polaroids of my childhood slowly vanished into the dark and foggy stockade of heartbreak before my very black eyes, while drizzling unsweetened tears of a cheerless adulthood that’s the problem I have with Polaroids