Dog-eared journals, neon
rainbow covers,
birthday cards with early

cursive signatures,
yellowed letters fluttering
from the depths

of ratty boxes.
Early life packed off
to new adulthood.

When I find these
scraps years from now,
it will be through wisened

eyes. I want to remember–
as is – the truth
of the moment. No wallowing.

Knowing after the beginning
there are turning points,
maybe even a denouement,

and post-scripts too.
An epilogue– maybe not happy–
but as true as memory can be

(which is not much really.)
Hence the historical
documents, these bits of paper

represent the moment
existed.