My heart is a hoarder,

Collecting little trinkets and doodads,

Finding memories of small moments,

Of quiet giggling,

Of sunny afternoons,

Of chirping birds in the morning,

Of singing crickets in the evening,

Of the way his eyes crinkled at the sides,

Of the way she was always the first to laugh,

Of the way these friends made her feel seen,

Stuffing up to the brim,

Treasuring each like delicate charms,

Beautiful, unique,

And forever remembered.