A wise man’s words once trickled,
“God gave us memories that we,
might have,
roses in December.”

The thought that a thought,
Can bring life to its likeness past,
Causes thought
To bear such depths.

But there are two doors,
an entry and an exit,
Though one can double as the other, and the other for more.

A tingling connection,
A thought followed by action,
Finds your shoulders between the trim,
Facing only one direction.

After entering a new world,
Memory will forever remain,
And there’s no way out of that memory,
Until it is stored for another day.

But once out…
You are in no more,
And to return you must find
The other door.

And sometimes that door,
Can only be a memory.

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