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So many stories
in our past:

think of a library, filled with books
well-worn memories,
dog-eared and faded, all of them
carefully preserved regrets

Looking back
(and who doesn't look back)
we remember only the sunny afternoons
the woodsmoke evenings walking home,
skipping between streetlights

So many unexpected adventures
we didn't appreciate,
thinking they were
as common as shooting stars.


with thanks to maddie

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