The trees were tall along the highway, towering giants watching over every traveler. Music loud playing in the car, so many more miles to go before we’re home again.
When I was young I would watch the trees on the sides of the road. I would dream of these roads. I would dream of the telephone poles.
Trapped in memory are the things forgotten.
I sat alone in a crowded room. I step behind the mic. The jokes told in the moment now forgotten.
Dreams and life merge as I look back upon my memory. I’m alone with nothing but memories. I no longer know the names of the many people I have met.
Each moment of memory a fragment of my life. I search through my memories. It makes me miss what my life once was.
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