Relative Something

*this* John W. Hays' take on things and experiences

Flowing

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slowly
flowing
blasting past
every last transformation
the old neighborhood
is gone
our memories
don’t last
buried deep
resurfacing
in a dream
a breath
of hope
lost
in an instant of ‘I’m not from here’
walking away
toward yesterday
the marbles roll
behind the couch
flirting
silently
with old realities
in the fog
of dust and detritus
pressed
precariously
against
unknown reasons
for every
vague
remembrance

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Written by johnwhays

July 13, 2014 at 8:02 am

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