Sharp and Soft

April 16, 2018
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My memories come to me in snapshots
Quick and sharp and soft,
I am left with times I can barely recall.

I remember winter, I am young.
I see Christmas lights draped over a window,
Songs of the season playing on the radio,
The snores of my cousin coming from the bottom bunk.
If I raise up my arm I’ll be able to touch the bumpy ceiling.

That memory flashed back to me,
During a conversation with a friend last summer.
I had been yanked into that moment,
It felt like I had been knocked out,
And sent into a dream.

Was this a dream or a memory?
I think this often.
I think about warmth on my skin, blankets curled around me,
My feet in the grass, pictures hanging on walls.
I think about when I was young,
I think about when I will be old.

I think about lost memories,
And dreams that will be mistaken for them.






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