ECHOES IN THE ATTIC

In the attic of my mind, a trunk lies still, Adorned with rusty locks and forgotten will. Inside, a jumble of memories, like old clothes, Folded and stored, with stories untold. A whispered secret, a creaky floor, A ghostly figure, forever in store. The scent of mothballs, a faded perfume, Echoes of love, in a bygone room. In this dusty space, where shadows play, I search for fragments of a bygone day. A torn photograph, a forgotten song, A piece of history, where memories belong. The trunk creaks open, a hidden key, Reveals the past, in a mystery. Echoes in the attic, whispers in my ear, Reminding me of love, and memories so dear.