A moment forgotten.
What will be remembered someday?
Who knows? Who knows.
I don’t care about remembering everything. I’m glad for my fragile memory, though I try to exercise it.
And I’m also glad for tiny little moments to grab hold of and preserve; to keep and archive and tuck away for someday; a rainy day cranial treasure pulled from the treasure box of history.
I think these two’ll be buds for a long time.
two beautiful girls in a stolen moment between moments.
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Something pretty in the ruins (I will write this well to remember it well).
