Treasure is transitory, illusory.
One person’s treasure is another person’s junk.
What was once treasured now gathers dust on the shelf, in the attic, basement, on the table at the flea market.
The real treasure is what we hold inside us.
The feelings we have, for people, places, times.
The memories and hopes that can never turn to dust.
(Canal side flea market, Brugge)
NaBloPoMo 24 of 30 – photography101:16