When the memories are good I do not want to let them go.
The bad ones fall away with the crumpled leaves of yesteryear.
They live their lives out and pass away without my missing them.
In the collections of memories I live in, I must remember to let them go.
Especially the good ones.
The rose-gold moments of my retrospect.
Because sometimes life does not play out the way a body wants it to.
It shatters hearts.
Reality can be the bitter cold that tears ones lungs.
The present pummels with its being.
In the wreckage of live we have to left expectations go.
Memories must become memories.
Beyond resurrection.
Beyond hope.
Faded pieces of the past.
Good though they may be.
For the present will never become beautiful memories if we try to hold what no longer is.
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