A Date with History

Dear Diary,

To find the tales of a bygone age, let’s embark on a museum date.

Imagine the air filled with anticipation as we stroll through the grand gate.

We’ll marvel at the architectural splendour of the ancient building and the aged stones that carry the weight of history,

Ivy and vines tracing their way along the edges, and sunlight casting hues upon its facade will all be a mystery.

I’ll wear a cable-knit sweater and you stay inside my bag, wrapped in your leather jacket.

We don’t need a guided tour, let’s solve the historical puzzles on our own.

We’ll wander through the corridors adorned with ancient artefacts and timeless arts,

Surrounded by the scent of old books and polished wood, and chandeliers that hang like dreams,

We’ll discover forgotten tales and mysterious relics, our eyes will sparkle at the art on the walls and our ears will hear the echoes of footsteps long faded.

In dimly lit halls and quiet corners, let’s exchange glances filled with shared secrets and utter our interpretations of the art we behold.

Ask me to take you to the library, under the soft glow of antique lamps, we’ll read passages aloud, from leather-bound volumes,

Our whispers will be exchanged like hushed verses of poetry, let that be our dance amidst the tapestry of history.

In the sculpture garden, we’ll linger, appreciating the artistry and each other’s company.

Perhaps I’ll capture our favourite moments with sketches creating tangible memories to be cherished.

I don’t need a sketchbook, I have you, you are my canvas and I’ll capture the aesthetic beauty of sculptures on you.

And what shall I do when I cannot embrace the delicate dance of shadows and the soft, muted tones?

I’ll click the details that I cannot draw, on a vintage camera, to etch the moments on a film roll that will transcend through the ages past.

And when the classical music performance begins, your pages will absorb the rhythmic beats, the symphony of notes, the delicate interplay between past and present.

At last, we’ll head towards the museum’s cafe, in the porcelain cup you’ll find the dance of flavours when tea leaves unfurl.

Your pages once blank will have handwritten verses, which I’ll read in the symphony of sips and the sketches I made on you will become visual delights for my eyes.

So dear diary, with sketches and prose, music and tea, our journey gracefully ends.

May your pages tell, in the ages to come, of a date with history, where two hearts found a home.

Melanie Ann George 🌼