They tell me,
the past is gone.
But I know that
we don't lose time,
we accumulate it:
seconds add up like
coins in our pockets.
Like pennies,
time gets heavy,
and I am tired,
so tired, darling,
of carrying time
on my own.
They tell me
we cannot go back,
but I know that
we are never truly gone.
Our history stays with us,
etched into our faces
and folded into
the creases of our fingers.
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