The Scrapbook

Better to have loved and lost?

We collected every memory,
Every ticket, every stub,
And put them in the scrapbook,
To commemorate our love.

I did the cutting and sticking,
You wrote the where and when,
But as time passed your interest waned,
You stopped picking up your pen.

The book was filled with bits and bobs,
Of this and that and more,
But that only told half the story,
Because to you it was a chore.

To collate all of our good times,
To remind us of shared fun,
To keep our treasured memories,
And to keep us as one.

So now the book's been scrapped,
Unfinished, incomplete,
The collecting, saving, cutting, sticking,
That once felt oh so neat.

Now feels like wasted time,
A way of holding on,
To something always insecure,
Something that's now gone.