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Cleaning My Room

☆ a time capsule of N O S T A L G I A ☆

Cleaning My Room

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Nothing compares to the sensation of

Opening boxes of buried treasure,

Sifting through forgotten childhood knick-knacks carved of plastic

That in a time long ago, made up your small world's solar system.

All it takes is a stray memory to send you down a

Long winding path - pages of the story so far. They

Gust in the wind behind you, to the past. And although you try to bury them

Inside your pragmatic subconscious,

All you want is to backpedal.

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(It's the little things that matter most.)

sad poetry
Kathryn Milewski
Kathryn Milewski
Read next: Poem: New Life
Kathryn Milewski

Insta: @katyisaladybug

Playlists, memoirs, and other wacky pieces.

See all posts by Kathryn Milewski