The Book

Every time I moved
the memories were shelved
like an old book
rarely to be removed

Part of my past
locked between covers
of the volume of my history
meant to last

But life goes on
among the pages
stories infinitely expand
heaping into a mountain

Years pass
the book is opened
finally the stories
are revealed in mass

The people I know
some exactly as they were
some changed by time
some who no longer show

And the memories
well remembered or
vague and needing prompt
come flooding in as stories

The beginnings
of the stories
are vivid
but the endings

The endings are
not yet complete
they are continuously
written with care

The visit is over
the book is shelved
the stories once again
trapped beneath the cover

Waiting patiently for me
to pull down the book
and reminisce
about my history.