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Memory of me

I wonder what kind of a memory i would be when I am gone? The kind that brings a smile to your lips? A wistful memory of hopeless romance in a cynical world? A foolish memory of never dying hope? The utter heaviness of lost hope, failure and despair? A quick, impatient, restless memory that reminds you to move? Would I be the quick wit, a punster hidden in your play of words? Or, a soft whisper to continue to believe in love? A harangue against your sense of defeat ? A reminder to flavour life's nuances perhaps when you can? Would my memory reside in your silences ? In your laughter? In the sparkle in your eyes? In moments of naughty, quirky thoughts ? In the quickness of your pace? In the music of the rhythm of life? In the flow of words i once spoke with my throaty voice? Or, the sentences I wove as I wrote ? Or, in those nebulous, fragile moments so profound and simple that they have no name...? I wonder where my memory would reside in you. I would love to know what memory of me you would hold, treasuring and guarding it fiercely in the deep recesses of your heart which the world would never know. Or, may be I am the painful memory you would rather forget and be happy that I shall haunt you no more.

- SS - 3/1/2017

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