Fleeting Reflections

I found my passport, tucked deep in the drawer,

a ghost of a moment, an island of lore.

The photo a stranger, captured in light,

who was I then, just a blur out of sight?

The face in the paper, so rigid, so still,

yet time moves along, the breath's not so chill.

I flip through the pages, each crease a regret,

these remnants of travel, but I’ve lingered yet.

Once vibrant with dreams, now shadowed with dust,

I yearn for the freedom, though it feels unjust.

The face in the mirror is not what it seems,

but echoes of journeys dissolve into dreams.