The scrapbook

An year has gone,
Or was it a lifetime?
While she pasted pictures,
Wrote captions in rhyme

In the scrapbook of memories,
The colors float around
Of smiles and frowns,
Of silence and sounds.

The pages are fragrant,
With words unsaid
With feelings unbound
Yet filled in the head.

The pages almost full,
not much space to write
Should she buy a new book?
Thinks late at night.

Ponders over the thought,
Of it being a lifetime for her,
Was just another ordinary year
For them who mattered.