***
Memory's got me in its quiet grip again,
Pulling back the pictures from the past within.
I'm looking into myself, I just can't tell:
Was this the truth, or just a story told?
A hushed voice drifts from somewhere in the room,
The wind flips through the pages of my life too soon.
What once felt heavy now is light as air,
Like footprints fading where the tide has been…
Memory whispers, twisting every story it holds,
I drown inside it, trying hard to see the road.
Did I go wrong? I try to find my place,
But the past moves too fast, I can't catch its trace.
***
Memory
© Copyright: Игорь Литвинцев, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126101202265
Свидетельство о публикации №126101202265
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