Draft Folder

So many drafts have hidden through the years
Deep in dark folders where I do not look.
They tell of certain insubstantial fears
That once obsessed me, but which I forsook
Or that, in some sense, may yet haunt me still;
They tell of love continued and maintained
Or of its first beginnings in my will,
Of places where I once was entertained
Or that once caught my fancy on the sly.
And when I find them, they remind me of
The person that I have been by and by,
The happiness, the longing, and the love
That made me me--and so as I revise
I look to them to finally make me wise.