If Memory Was Another Being

Perhaps, it’s currently coping up with me running, with bated breaths.

It pokes me on my shoulders when I try to rest.

It lurks from behind when I draft out the day.

But I see that it’s withering, like foliage falling, slowly on a slow windy day in the country.

I see its graying body, with skin that tortuously melt.

It looks for me, maybe, praying that we reconcile.

But memory, I see that you are tired, you need to rest.

You can go now, you can go now.


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