What I see is an illusion
Everything wrapped in spider’s hammock
Behind the rusted lock
Still fresh are my memories
My doll dressed in years of dust
And the grandfather’s rocking chair
Sip of the petrichor in my tea
And this dew upon the barren garden
Everything has changed in real
But it’s still the same in my illusion.
Oh, what tangled webs we weave
To hold memories we might retrieve
If we could but use our eyes to see.
Yes, you could say I connected with your words. 🙂