I sometimes walk along quiet paths a darker me once carved.

The memories are stored on monochrome slides, like old history tapes of times I didn't live.

I retrace my footprints, making steps on steps that nature weathered away.

Creating my existence again, where the world tried to hide it.

When I reach my secret place, the shades become bright stains,

On places of my mind , I once all but forgot.

I see where I once sat, where I was devoured by the earth, in holes that I once dug.

Being reminded of memories and thoughts that I once thought.

I see my fort, decaying,

Palm tree windows growing over, hiding the view to the inside room

The fort is sad, reflecting the soul that carved its caverns,

And then I realize, the memory is just a forest, growing over, not wanting to remember you.

A lost dream, now covered in shrubs.

 

 

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