Life consists of many comings and goings

As materialistic beings we cherish our belongings

Belonging to me, truly, are just my memories

The one true thing that’s only mine, isn’t sensory


A feeling of nostalgia, a flashback to old times

The smell of Grandma’s kitchen, a small book of old rhymes

The sound of the blue train stopping at the station

The taste of french escargot that I had on vacation


These are things that belong only to me

A world of thoughts that only I can see

Without my memories I would cease to exist

Just a soulless man on a long forgotten list


So even if everything I hold dear were taken away

My memories can never be stolen in such a way

My memories - some wild as a tiger, some gentle as a lamb

Are what, in fact, define me. They make me who I am.

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