If I Were a Poet

Alone in her house,
always alone,
she finds a trunk in the attic.
Inside is a photo album;
She brushes off the dust and opens it.
Faces, beautiful and young, look up at her.
A few are recognizable:
herself,
the girl next door,
a boy and his handwritten words beneath it:
“Remember me.”
But she can’t remember his name.
All she can remember is
once he tried to kiss her,
and she didn’t let him.