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Songs Of Old

And memories, they keep coming when that’s all you have
Or all you care about– so easily picked, harder to remember what led to them being your

I can move mountains with my mind, but my eyes will only watch and my hands only dig; my lips will only move, my mouth will only dry. A peculiar situation when reality puts you in a place you’d been before but hoped was only a dream best kept sleeping.

I laugh out loud when I think of days, but blank my stare when hanging on to thoughts of nights and all their ramblings.

Just poked fun at myself
Tried to land a soft punch
But didn’t pull back at all
Meant to hold a thought
Forgot to let it go to begin with

And that’s where this story ends.

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musings & scribbles