Imprisoned

I plucked an aching memory

And concealed it in a box

Covered it with brown paper

And secured it with locks.

Then I hid the box in darkness

In a secret part of my mind

With dust and yesterday’s yearnings

That I didn’t want anyone to find.

But sometimes, remembering is easy

And forgetting takes so long,

That what I’d dismissed to darkness

Came back when I heard our song.

Now you’re not here while this memory is

But I can’t let that be,

So I’ll lock it and hide the box again,

Till the day I can set it free.