on forgetting.

these days, these nights,
slicing to the core,
momentary joys, buoys,

merely afloat as beacons,
for lost travellers on the waters,

in flight,

holding on,
onto, clutching close,

hugging,
clichés aside,
holding on for dear life,

while days turn into more nights,

nights into years,

passing us by:

spectators,
ground down on rehashed tales,

finally, feeling the waft of fresh air,

knowing at last, at last,

the past would really, truly,
be the past

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