An old polaroid

Today, I found the old me,
in an old Polaroid.
I pulled the mildewed out from the tome.

It was quite queer to see my laugh that winsome,
To see my shine that bright,
To see my mind that calm.
That little musty memory wasn’t typifying the present wearied me
But the lost ebbing me.

It had something in it.
Maybe the present that is gone
or the future that I am in.
Maybe the smile that is gone
or the tears that I got.

It had something, or maybe,
It was just a spooky beyond.

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