I'm really trying to remember.
Every time you stir the brain.
You're re-imagining it for the for first time.
Every memory you treasure, is not yours.

At first it was...
...then it wasn't
then it wasn't again...
...It sure isn't now

So then why attach yourself?
Why even say, 'Remember when...'
It's not your memory, it's your memory
of that memory.

Funny thing is though...
It comes back with an ebb and flow.
The cold biting through...whatever I was wearing...
The way the wind, rushed into the spaces provided.

I think it was in a smoking area?
Does that sound familiar?
How I felt is what I remember,
And oh, yeah, there was rain.