The past is a tapestry, richly…

The past is a tapestry, richly woven,
With threads of joy, and moments sharp with pain.
I pull a thread, and suddenly I'm there,
Beneath a summer sky, or by a winter fire.
The faces of the ones I loved return,
Not as they are now, but as they used to be,
Young, vibrant, full of life, their spirits bright.
A song on the radio, a turn of phrase,
Can unlock memories, vivid and so clear.
I taste the air, I feel the gentle breeze,
I hear their voices, clear as if they spoke.
These memories, a solace and a wound,
A bittersweet reminder of what was.
They are the treasures time cannot erase,
The echoes of a love that will not fade.