Memories are fickle. Submerge them and watch them flake apart. Time puts crumbling splinters in our skulls. Time buries itself under oceans and shadows. Sharks and coral drift among remembrance. We are real and we are not.
We are sequences plotting out patterns in sand, kicking pebbles across streets. We are strings and threads tearing, coming loose, wrapping around rocks.
We are chattering skies and swaying branches. We are floating dust and falling light. We are here and we are forgotten. Fireflies in secret, hovering in the blue.
We are lace and fire, rust and vapour. We are memory, and we are gone.
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Thank you so much for your comments, especially if they include limericks about skeletons.
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