I dig through my old boxes,
To find those pretty post-its,
You ask me what their worth is?
What lies in those lines?
And I tell you everytime,
They’re inked reminders of our good times.

But why do you save them?
When we make more everyday?
It may sound silly to you,
But memories fade away.
And I don’t want us to face,
Any dark, heartless days,
But somehow if we end up there,
Our memories will give us shade,
They’ll help us get back to where,
There’s shinning sunny rays.

So I’ll guard them all my life, you know,
Just in case.

But why do you store them in those boxes?
Why not just display?
Somethings need to be preserved,
A couple miles away.
So when you find them suddenly,
It becomes a better day.

They act like tiny shots,
Of happiness on rocks,
They take away the scorching heat,
That burns you inside out.

These 3″ by 3″ soldiers,
Would never let me fray.
So I hold onto them,
Even on my darkest days.

I hope I’ve answered all your ‘buts’,
So hand me the ones you took out today,
Before the ‘Monica’ in me gets out,
And colour coordinates these again.

Your smile lights up your face,
As you scribble on a post-it, yet again.


2 thoughts on “Post-its

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