Validity

The ink on the page is a faded, dark blue,

a ghost of a border I once traveled through.

The face in the photo is sharper and lean,

a version of me that I haven't quite seen.

In 2014, the world was an open door,

but the stamps in the back don't mean much anymore.

The corners are frayed from the heat of my hip,

a record of every impulsive, long trip.