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My memory has been getting worse. As seconds turn to years, As mole hills turn to mountains, As truths turn to theories. I had memorized her shadow, the turn of her face, I had memorized her golden curls bristled with wind, All now stilled by dirt and borrowed words. Only pictures remain, cursed in unbridled stillness. A second loss to Father Time. The first in blood, the second in cerebellum. She fades from me like a tattoo in the sun, While a stone remains, mocking forever. How fitting her name should be printed into the Earth, Curves of stone remembering long after I forget. The wind no doubt less a cruel force than that of time.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2021

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