Memories..
They come as flowers
Or as a shower of rain,
Dousing us in love and powers,
Smelling of happiness and pain.
They seem extremely easy to share,
Yet feel like giving a part of ourselves away.
They make you smile and cry,
And remind us of the tears that never dry.
We are born without any,
Yet expire with many.
We hold on to them,
Yet hope to let go of this gem.
They are a drug we crave,
Even though they give us a heartache.
They are the evil and good in a human,
But also the hope which makes us humans.
They are the content of our stories,
Which are ,either contained within
Or written in a series.
But either way hide an infinite heartache within .
