Forgotten Faces

In the depths of my wallet,

a crumpled photograph waits,

a fleeting glimpse of laughter

frozen in a moment,

a crowd of faces blurred

as if they’re shadows of dreams,

like moths sealed in amber,

youthful eyes now ghosts.

I barely recognize them,

but in that worn edge,

memories flicker,

a reminder of who we were,

when time felt endless

and distance was just a mile.

I hold it close,

wondering where it all went,

as if the past could spill

like loose change,

reminding me to reach back

for the warmth that’s gone.