I see my twenties in sepia tone - grainy
- not to mention flat.
Should it surprise me that my memories are cast in the hue of old photos?
I never remember owning the pants that I see myself wearing.
It seems to me that if I really remembered that time I should remember the pants.
A kid born today will probably have holographic selfies,
and thus a chance to look back on youth in 3-D,
but it'll never be quite right, will it?
This entry was posted in poem, Poetry and tagged memory, poem, poetry by B Gourley. Bookmark the permalink.