I was told once, that memories meant nothing,
They withered into the ether of forgetting,
And yet, I have found that the mind
Is a vast city, the streets little strands of emotion
that join vast boulevards of emotion,
To lead us to buildings that are memories.

Even as I wish to bulldoze this skyscraper,
that is the memory of her,
I find the boulevards that lead to this magnificent ruin,
Will leave me longing for too long.

If this Palace of dreams, woven in the fabric of time,
Is brought down to rubble,
What would the landmark be?
It would be the ruin, and the memory of it being destroyed,
Would bring me to my knees.

A skyline stretches out, much like Mumbai and New York,
Los Angeles and London,
And the towers that stretch outward to the sky,
Are the projections of her and me,
forever stamped till Alzheimers consumes me like a storm,
or Death liberates me.