Why does it look so dirty?
So dirty that if I took my finger across it it’d be black,
Yet that black isn’t dust,
But thoughts, secrets, and more than just an imagination.
It was never so black,
It used to be pretty,
Strong, trustworthy, courage,
A good friend,
The locket that reminded us of our friendship.
But now it’s just black,
That black that just proves it wasn’t meant to last long,
So now when I sit alone,
Our tears, memories, and laughs come to mind.
I try not to touch the locket now,
Worried that it might shatter
Into a thousand pieces.
The only thing I still have.