It’s weird how memories fade.
Where do they go when they leave?
Up above beyond the clouds? Or do they just hang down below instead?
Underneath the dirt of our dirty soles,
our tired souls…
Who can no longer remember the curve of smiles, the scents left behind in the imaginary trail our bodies made?
To where exactly do our memories fade? And who can say how fast?
Why are some ghosts of our pasts still here, and the others long gone,
Far enough away from our minds that we no longer know who’s alive and who’s really dead. No, not anymore. Not these days.
Where do memories go when they fade?
And what if they stayed instead?
A.P. Bastian 