memories, to me, are strange.
they fall into our life,
stumbling onto our course,
and they vary from person to person.
they, to put it simply, are glimpses of our past.
and each day you are afraid of losing these pieces of yourself.
out with the old, in with the new.
perhaps these moments are love.
filled with warmth but still heartbreak.
they can hurt.
maybe- when someone dies, their memories wilt and bleed into the air, and perhaps others receive those memories. and as one of the side effects of those dying stars of a memory, is that the other somehow sees them, feels them, remembers them.
Perhaps that's DeJa Vu.
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A/N
Thank you so much for reading, and... I have nothing else to put here so I'm just gonna leave... k.
Thanks again!
YOU ARE READING
unwanted redemption
Poetry"Life is like a poem, never truly finished. But sometimes it's over before it even began, because sometimes a pen runs out of ink."-me
