It’s spine

now brittle with age

crackles

as I open her diary

to indecipherable scrawl.

Sweet perfume still lingers

a wisp of the past.

White hair on pillow,

eyes vacant,

she smiles at me,

a stranger to her now.

She is free.

Travelling  

on pathways anew,

forever

lost in time.

Photograph taken by shironosov purchased from iStock