Dust To Dust

I left you in the corner of my mind with teenage memories of my puberty. I put thoughts of you in a box in the attic of my recall, along with others from that time, and there you lay, settled, gathering dust. Gathering dust. I wrapped each memory carefully, as one would a cut glass; delicate, trying to keep the stems intact. Desperate to retain the perfection yet scared it wouldn't last, and there you stayed, settled, gathering dust. Gathering dust. Years have rusted the recollection; Once vivid colours of reminiscence faded in perception, yet you sat patiently in the corner of my mind, jostled by accumulating life experiences, settled, gathering dust. Gathering dust. Like some old painting waiting for restoration, you bided your time. Then one day in the attic you spoke my name; you called me from your corner and into my present came a familiarity; a recognisable voice perforating the now with then and it was yesterday again - I unfold the tarnished tissue paper which has wrapped the ornate cut glass memory for so long; carefully, piece by tattered piece, and there it is, glistening in glorious perfection; vibrant still, safely stored, stem intact.