Borrowing Yesterday
I reach into yesterday
not to change it,
only to borrow a little light
for the shadows of today.
Yesterday was not perfect.
Its roads were dusty,
its promises sometimes broken,
its laughter sometimes brief.
Yet it carried a warmth
that memory keeps polishing.
I remember the slow afternoons
when the sun rested gently on the earth,
when voices travelled through open windows,
and time walked slowly,
barefoot and unhurried.
We did not know
that those ordinary hours
were quietly becoming treasures.
We lived them carelessly,
as if tomorrow would always wait.
Sometimes I hear my younger self
laughing in those distant rooms,
unaware that life was already
teaching quiet lessons.
Now I borrow from those moments—
a smile once shared between friends,
a song drifting through a Sunday morning,
a moment when the heart felt whole.
Yesterday lends me courage.
It whispers that storms pass,
that sorrow softens,
that even the longest night
eventually remembers the dawn.
So I return to it sometimes,
not to live there forever,
but to gather a small lantern of memory
to carry through today.
For yesterday, though gone,
still leaves its fingerprints on the soul—
and in quiet hours
it allows me
to borrow hope
from a time that still remembers me.
I
Borrowing Yesterday
