the guitar riff
strums my heartstrings ,
plucking and letting go
with the soft unmarred hands of a child.
time turns one last time
before this memory too,
fades
as half of my essence had before.
leaving my marred hand
with no story.
the child is a past self.
I am so scared of growing up and forgetting all these tiny miniscule details of the whole picture which is my life. I seem to be forgettinng everything, every story and i don't want to grow old with a hazy memory of what i used to be before.