Wither.

How does one forget a name

It starts with remembering

Thinking of every inked page,

midnight conversation,

and captured photograph,

This is where you begin

Take a flame,

One able to fit in your moist palm

And purge the soiled sheets

With the almighty eraser

Upon cooling fragments must be tossed

Ashes given wings in the wind

To where they go, it doesn’t matter

For they are only remnants of a dream once lived.

Allow time,

The comforting mother,

To rest her hands on your weary head

Letting her fingers move the minutes

Until moments in love are lost to tomorrow.

Then, you are free.

You will meet her on a day,

That is like all of the other days

But she will approach you,

Trying to provide answer

For questions, long-forgotten.

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