That old box in the attic kept me awake last night.
Trying to find the person you used to be.
Tearing through yearbooks, journals, and ages.
It hit me like a low budget sci-fi movie
when the characters are traveling back in time.
Pictures pertaining to the story flying by on either side.
A foreshadow here, an unrevealed plot there.
Memories swarming my peripherals as this old box
took me to 1996. To a day when I was learning to
ride a bike and falling frequently. We lived on that
road with the little yellow house and the deaf boy
I called my best friend. A minute walk from
the dinosaur park and the mysteries it held.
We would take trips to Foster's for sandwiches
and rock candy, those cavity creating cadavers.
I wish to be back there. I seek not the ignorance
of childhood or the simplicity of our life then.
I crave the un-blighted image I once held
and the times you would catch me when I fell.

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