Remembering receives a new definition each year, each year we grow older as our numbers change as our figures fade as our hands fly further from our motherβs; hands are for lovers now.
Memories are stripped, constructed suddenly from ideas, from education, no longer genuine as logic takes precedence, blurring the edges. Childhood is obviously the reason you canβt sustain as an adult. Or so they tell you.
Welcome to the βgood times,β No picture books to flip, puzzles to arrange, just taxes, bills, magazines, ****** onto us so swiftly by whoever made the rule that imagination dies as soon as the clock starts ticking.