Loving the memory

A trickster, my mind

It shows me not what 

I want to see; but what it

Chooses to remember

Completely out of control

I am at the mercy 

Of its cruelty

Intent on piling 

New memories atop

Old, cherished ones…

Under the choking weight 

Of all things new,

The old are dying a slow

Death; and their demise

Fails to move me

From the depths 

They have fallen into…

Today, I know most of them

Have escaped into the Universe

Where they float, free from all

That binding weight;

Free from being called upon

By someone who was

Reduced to loving them

Instead of the person

With whom she made them.

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About Runa

With words you can reveal, hide, confuse, clarify, rule, beg, love, hate. In speech words live momentarily and die with the moment. In writing, they are immortalised and in being unspoken and unwritten, they become omnipotent: God like. My words here could have remained unspoken. Could have. They're immortal and that's enough. View all posts by Runa

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