[untitled]

This memory.
A cobblestone street.
With its antiquated street lamps
And horse drawn carriages
And a tailor shop down the way.
A woman sells flowers on the corner;
I bought one for my lapel.

This memory.
A cobblestone street.
It is a short road and
Hazy at both ends.

Haziness will last for a lifetime.
Too long.
Antiquities age into romances.
The latter I swore to never allow.

Burn this cobblestone street to ashes.

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