In the attic, dusty and forgotten,
Rests a trinket box, a treasure trove
Of memories fading like old photographs.
Once cherished and held in tender hands,
Now relics of a life left behind.
A porcelain doll with cracked, painted lips,
Her eyes dull, vacant, devoid of life.
Once an object of adoration and play,
She now gathers dust on a forgotten shelf,
A silent witness to long-lost innocence.
A keychain, scratched and worn with age,
Once jingling merrily in a pocket or purse.
Each dent, each scratch, a story to tell,
Of countless adventures, journeys begun,
Now condemned to a forgotten drawer.
The worn-out leash of a faithful dog,
A companion on walks that seemed endless.
Whisked away by time’s relentless grip,
He awaits his master’s return no more,
A symbol of loyalty fading into oblivion.
In the kitchen, the silverware drawer,
Where spoons and forks once clinked and clattered.
Now tarnished and dull, they lay idle,
Their purpose forgotten, their tales untold,
Mere remnants of feasts and family gatherings.
A handwritten letter, yellowed with age,
Ink fading as time overtakes its words.
Once an expression of love and longing,
Now just a relic of forgotten love,
A whisper lost in the vastness of time.
In every corner of our lives, they hide,
These ordinary objects with secret lives.
Witnesses to joy, sorrow, and everything in between,
They silently narrate stories never told,
The tales of an unseen world in plain sight.
So, let us not forget the worn and the broken,
The seemingly insignificant and mundane.
For in these forgotten treasures lies a beauty,
A connection to the past, a glimpse of ourselves,
And the stories of the unseen lives of everyday things.