Diary of Unwritten Words

My fingers entwined around the handle. Pull.

Immediately drenching me in memories,

the waves of nostalgia 

crash over

me.

It sits there motionlessly.

The musty aroma of naphthalene and aged wood,

swim around it gracefully like a mermaid.

I can feel it dying to be unfolded.

The secrets eager to escape.

Tears, rips and loss of softness,

no longer a fluffy cloud.

The colours are fading away,

like the fading of day

when night approaches.

Click, the lock is in place.

Once my privileged information is locked away,

history repeats itself. My baby blanket,

my diary of unwritten words settles back down and 

resumes its unperturbed state in my cupboard.