There are parts of me that define who I am.

Favorite albums, games, and movies.

Places, hobbies, and friends.

Memories that stick.

 

Then years pass, and I forget them.

Have I forgotten who I was?

Do I know who I will be?

Don’t get me started on right now.

 

Memories are transient visitors,

As skittish as the thoughts that bear them.

I’d focus my attention on something more permanent,

But nothing seems to last.

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