Tapestry

Tattered and worn,
The album draws me close.
A scent of love lingers
On every page, every photo,
Every memory.

Creases on every page,
A smudge here,
A tear there,
Signs of a life well-loved.

You laugh and say
“It’s just an album”
But how do I explain it to you?

The photos whisper stories and
Every person speaks to me,
Like characters in a play.

Never “just an antique album”,
It combines stories of my family,
Forming a single narrative,
One that rushes in my blood.

I am a tapestry,
Woven from these stories.
Every image strengthens my threads,
Helps me create my own story,
Helps me weave my own tapestry.