by Paul Curtis

I found the box in the attic
A flat, rigid white box
The sort that special greetings card came in
It was immediately familiar
Reminding me of my first love
For inside the box
Carefully kept and preserved
Were the love letters from Janice
Scented with cheap perfume
Letters full of young girls chatter
About favourite pop groups and fashions
And the days "must haves"
Talk of adolescent love and longing
Honey coated words of first love
Kept in the same box as her valentines card
Teenage love fondly remembered
The perfume was still evocative
Though faded like the memory
But I could see her pretty face
Framed with that fine brown hair
Cut in a Bob, so it kissed her neck as she moved
Her developing figure that hinted at what would be
Her gentle laugh that made you turn your eyes to her
The soft delicate hands that felt so good in mine
That first kiss that lingered on my lips
Long after we parted
I smiled at the memory
And wondered how her life went
What kind of woman did she become?
Did her aspirations bear fruit?
Or did she muddle through the years like the rest of us
Best not to know probably
The truth might diminish the memory
Of a sweet young girl

I am a fifty something family man with a passion for writing and I draw inspiration from those around me.
paul.curtis1956 @

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