My Freedom of Recollections
My Freedom of Recollections
I am not original
I am just an open book
I am noticeable because I am simple
I grow weary of what to think
I seldom find any faults
When I do find fault
It is I
Not the person who I see
Because I am the only one judging at that moment
I look into my deepest memories
And it always was what I saw that made who I am
What I hear
What I smelled
What I touch
What I felt
It was not a book
It was not any other person
It was just the experience
Being held
That was me
Held sincerely
It all went gone
My peace that was lost
And now was found
Where do you think these things come from?
What value it holds
A touch with a simple hand
A kiss on a cheek
A whisper of kindness in the ear
It was not for sure my older siblings
It was not for sure the adopted parents
The recollection of this was sooner
The recollection was more than brighter
The protection was there
But the intimate demand disappeared
The value it holds so unclear
Moments, minutes, hours, days, and years
It all comes to one special feeling
To exist
Is to be kind
Is to be happy
Is to know faults
Is to be your self
Is to value
Each and everything around you
This is life
My recollection is life
No other way nor other people can change my recollection
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