The Forgotten Diary

In the quiet hush of the attic’s embrace,
Amidst the dust and shadows’ chase,
I found a relic of a bygone year.
A forgotten diary, whispering secrets near.

Its cover is time-worn, leather-bound,
Held stories within, in faded ink, unbound.
The ink that once danced with fervour and grace
Now aged, its tales are etched on time’s face.

I cradled it gently, like a fragile heart,
A portal to moments, a forgotten art,
The diary’s pages, a silent plea,
To unlock its secrets, set them free.

I turned the pages, a journey in ink,
To the world of the diary’s keeper, I’d think,
In a sepia-toned world of yesteryears,
I found their joys, hopes, and fears.

In cursive loops, they poured their soul,
Each entry is a piece of a life, a whole,
Dreams penned in the soft candlelight,
Worries are hidden beneath the cover of the night.

They spoke of love, pure and true,
Of a world once vibrant, where dreams once grew,
But as I read on, a tear I’d find,
The diary held heartaches left behind.

Through ink-stained pages, their life unfurled,
A map of their heart, a vintage world,
The forgotten diary, a time machine,
Revealing a life that once had been.

In those quiet moments, as I read,
I felt their presence, their every need,
For in this attic’s dusty, secret lair,
Their memories lived on, suspended in the air.

So, I closed the diary with reverence and care,
Tucked it away, in its hiding, aware,
Though the diary’s keeper was long gone,
Their words and dreams would forever dawn.