memories don’t always tell the truth

How distinctly will you remember me when I am gone?

Will you remember the color of my hair

or the sound of my voice?

Will you recall the sweet things I said to you

when I was young and the world was new?

Will you remember a stolen kiss on a hot day

in a world too cold for people as good as I was?

Will you remember beauty that was never there?

Will you recall a wild mane blowing in my face

on a beach shared for a few months of a bleak life

when life was not bleak and my head nearly shaved?

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