Time and Memory

The broke doll on the floor, the arms juxtaposed and hair covered in dust. Why did your little girl leave you so, Dolly, did you not drink your tea?

A book flayed open, it's red cover layered in the sediment of time. Why did you not engage your reader, was your story not well written?

Crumbling lace curtains barely hanging to the rod, rift with many more holes than intended. Why can't you block the sun and protect the privacy of this house, isn't your job never ending?

Time and memory goes on, but never looks the same in the end. It always morphs into a different point of view, the principal players dancing the same steps and calling it a new song.