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02.01.09 / 11:16 pm
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sometimes, the people in my memories blur,
as if one could be another could be a third;
and sometimes, my memories aren't memories at all
but ghosts pretending, out of line with reality,
molded from formerly accurate shapes,
replete with embellishments.i study these fictions as truths,
the two now indiscernible like distant shadows,
the rate at which they multiply absurd. i am the dream and you are my bird.
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