Memory makes a secret
of the forgotten.
What a heartbreaking thing, when a friend
tells you a story you were there to see,
and you have nothing
except your trust in them
- and your wish that it happened,
and how right it feels that it
could have, did -
to create a picture,
to fill in the color
and shade, how it must have
felt, and been - how embarrassing
not so long ago, now
yes,
I remember it
well,
somehow.
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