My fingers run carefully along the edges
of a time worn binder,
dancing over the cover in anticipation.
I stroke the tattered stickers that adorn the front
before slowly flipping it open.
The pages whisper to me,
telling me the words of days past.

A gentle feeling of nostalgia starts in my fingers
and spreads slowly up my arms
as if the cards, tucked carefully in their sleeves,
have reached out and wrapped delicate fingers
around long forgotten dreams
dragging them to the forefront of my mind.

I smile, soft and slow,
as my eyes take in the brilliant  colors
red, blue, green, yellow, silver
shades of days that sit warmly hazy in my memory

The cards seem to laugh,
a bright, joyful sound,
as I turn the plastic pages.
There are stories here,
tucked between printed paper and cheap plastic.
An entire childhood rests between these pages.

My muscles relax,
the binder thunking lightly against my thighs.
Things look a little brighter now,
a little younger.

Another day soon,
when I can’t seem to remember how to smile,
I will open these pages again
and listen intently to what they have to say
but for now
for now I am content.