A silent song.
Lyrics accompanied by a sweet melody.
Pieces of art, beautiful,
both separate and together
A family this must be.
Sweet rain drops on the window pane.
Wet streaks running down a slender cheek.
Pain, anger thoughts.
A fear this must be.
A smile.
Wrinkled lines caress
the eyes, forehead, and lips.
Laughter became the pencil for age.
A movement in time this must be.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
A Lifetime of memories, momentous jewels.
Will I be remembered for the treasure
Or
my all too soon forgotten words?
“This” is what we are always trying to define.
Just let whatever “this” may be, be.
Imagine the possibility
awaiting
figuratively,
and forget the restrictions
that stop your dreams.
Love,
(The) Life or (Create the) Fiction

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