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Source: http://thematboard.com/ via ac00pphotodesign on The Matboard

Already those days have passed

into the sequence of dreams.

Perfect. Passed on.

Already they have become part of lore.

A miracle. Bending the impossible.

Like framed photographs of dead people –

With bright eyes, happy faces, always 35.

That’s who I used be, who I could be –

And that’s you, as you had been –

or is it the way I remember you?

Maybe that’s how I’d like to forget you.


I wonder if your dreams match mine –

Your memory versus my memory –

Your picture of how I used to be

how we were:

In a hurry to live, before winter.


In between dreams, pinned-up memories,

the agonizing with the detail of the dream,

chewing on twigs of memory, and,

oh, amidst this whirlwind mass of moments,

forgetting must be a good idea.


No more photograph people at 35 –

No more straying into optimism –

No more soul magic or that

force field that refuses to weaken –


Then I wonder: will I agree?