the night air still clings to me, a cloak
of mist pulling me back into memory.
the low bustle of cicadas in the trees,
dust hanging in the air,
(or was it fog?)
no, it was the condensation of my
breath as i bitterly exhaled into
the biting wind, snow nipping at my
heels as i dug them in that much
harder. or was it raining? and my heels
being pulled to and fro by puddles
deep with reflection? dwelling
in the depths of memories can be
pointless, you see, as new memories
work retroactively to cloud the older
ones even more.
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