We cling to our memories like delicate glass,
fearing that if we let them go, they'll shatter
splinter into countless pieces.
But my memory of you is slipping,
no matter how hard I grasp.
It’s like trying to hold onto smoke
the tighter I squeeze, the more elusive it becomes.
I'm caught,
trapped between the fear of forgetting
and the pain of remembering,
lost in the space between what was
and what is now slipping beyond my reach.
And here I stand,
on this fragile precipice,
realizing that maybe, just maybe,
some memories are meant to fade
not as a loss,
but as a quiet release,
letting us finally
move forward.
YOU ARE READING
Echoes of the Lost
PoetryIn a world that often feels overwhelming and uncertain, poetry has been my refuge, my way of making sense of the chaos around me. This collection is born from a place of introspection and longing, a testament to the raw emotions and profound questio...
