In the darkest corners of my closet, an old shoe box resides
Once old and lifeless, but I saw your potential.
I cloaked you in True Black acrylic,
and sat impatiently waiting for the layers to dry
Stars, delicate and radiant green, I brushed upon your surface
An homage to those plastic constellations from my childhood nights,
Pasted on the ceiling of my home now left behind.
I am Van Gogh, you are my starry night.
You, now protector of my most sacred memories,
A bearer of witness to echoed laughter and bittersweet tears,
you defy the thief that is father time,
you restore my withering memories on those days
that I am reminded of your existence.
Oh memory box, who would I be without you?
You are more than mere cardboard and paint,
you’ve become a vessel that cradles the core of my being,
For my past, for my present, for my future,
You are the evidence of my existence.
