My mouth would no longer water at the thought of my brother's favorite after school snack...
You know, those cardboard boxes with stamps and baseball cards hidden within, that my grandmother always had in her pantry of goodies,
Our tiny, clammy hands eagerly rummaged through
before she lay us down for our afternoon nap
The drag of an old VHS lulled me to sleep, pinky finger wrapped around the edges of a homemade blanket tenderly woven together
Loss of youth presents itself in many forms...
I'll swallow the burn, like cheap whiskey on a week night
Traditions tend to lose their novelty through jaded eyes
Sephia lenses eventually wash out dated picture frames that hang loosely on wood paneled walls
Towering over those Christmas centerpieces that hid dust-covered and forgotten all year long
But then I learned to see life through the eyes of a child;
I watched the roseate glow return to a peaches and cream complection,
As the magic of simplicities restored itself in things I taught myself to overlook
I learned to love my smile when I realized it matches my dad's;
And how those songs I belt out from memory are songs older relatives collected their tickets to;
And how my love for kittens mirrors a grandmother long gone;
Or how I began appreciating those clementines my grandmother sat out at yule
Although we all collect our customs individually
We're all just cosmic fragments of every person we have ever loved.