when you come.

When you come to me, unbidden,
Beckoning me
To long-ago rooms,
Where memories lie.

Offering me, as to a child, an attic,
Gatherings of days too few.
Baubles of stolen kisses.
Trinkets of borrowed loves.
Trunks of secret words,

I CRY.

-maya angelou

*reading poetry in the backseat of my car at lunch while it rains - one of my most cherished and sacred moments.