Diary

She opens the dusty pages
Carved through by bookworms
And glimpses herself.
The image of her
Through each sundried page
Looks familiar
But distorted in detail,
Like seeing your face
Flipped in a mirror image.
The image is her
But also a stranger.
Time warps the image.
That is what years do to you.

-A

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One comment

  1. assortmentbox · January 23, 2015

    Nice 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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