Souvenir of Us: A Touching Poem About Lost Love
"A souvenir is not just an object; it's a fragment of time, a piece of someone's heart we carry with us" CJB
Souvenir of Us
In the echo of departure,
a memory clings to the fabric of my shirt,
a souvenir, not of places,
but of the hands that once held me.
It's the scent of jasmine
threaded through the air of a forgotten morning,
the laughter caught in my hair,
tangled like the roots of old love.
This souvenir is the quiet hum
of your voice, a melody that vibrates
through the hollow of my bones,
a song of loss, preserved in silence.
I carry you, not in photographs
but in the way light spills through
the spaces where you used to be,
gilding the absence with your shadow.
Every breath I take is now a pilgrimage
to the temple of your absence,
where I lay down this souvenir,
a relic of joy, a testament to what once was.
In the museum of my heart,
this souvenir does not gather dust;
it grows, like the moss on ancient stones,
a living reminder, green and vibrant.
So when the world asks for proof of love,
I show them, not the trinkets bought
but the air I breathe,
the space you left,
this souvenir of us.
