Passport to Dreams

I found it buried, yellowed and torn,

a relic of travel, of dreams once worn.

Pages whisper secrets of journeys untaken,

a map to the world, now frayed and forsaken.

We spoke of Paris, the sands of Dubai,

of longing to wander, to touch the sky.

But life held me back, like roots in the ground,

as friends laughed of places where freedom is found.

That crinkled edge, a promise of flight,

holds memories waiting, fading from sight.