Memories remain,
Some recent, many past,
like faded old photographs,
Hanging in crowded coffee shops,
Where we had our big conversations.
About the little things.
But we did part,
Like the pages in a book.
To the end of this story.
Let's toss books and burn libraries.
When Clichéd metaphors wet our lives,
Strange ones emerge.
The shadows learn to whisper their tale,
Of how they miss the sun.
And so we start again,
One step and then another.
With memories to forget
And scars to heal.
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