A Song For Us

The song is all, we sing together, voices soar, spiralling ever-upwards into the cerulian infinite, across the universe. The song goes on forever.

I felt your hand - it was a memory, a moment when the electrons re-assembled those fragments of something, splinters of time regained from time past, chemically enhanced and re-imagined, perhaps. Was it like that? I don't know, I cannot remember everything, I am only remembering that which my electrical connections create from the fragments that lie around inside the repository of my life. Was it like that? Am I remembering or am I creating memories from a life that never happened?
I take a picture, a memory visible in captured light.

I felt your hand - it was real, it was warm, it was soft...
I remember, time is regained. In the morning of tomorrow will I remember it again?
Is it the same every time? 
Is the memory of yesterday the same as the memory of today?
Is it you?

I felt your hand - I know it was you.

Memories are lost, these pictures fade, our light evaporates.
The light creates, the light destroys
So much time passed, so much to remember, is it all true?
The fragments of time are falling apart, dispersing within the ever-expanding universe of my memory,
The dust of what was, gradually drifting into glowing nebulae of uncertainty - the stars of memory are slowly burning themselves into oblivion until all is black and cold. I remember things that never happened, I forget things that did. This uncertain seed of memory.

I felt your hand.

Standing on the beach on a spring afternoon, the sea is calm and caressess the pebbles which sigh gently as they roll back and forth in the soft white foam of the sea's kisses. Between the sea and the sky there is another space. Invisible light. The sea wraps around the land, the sky wraps around all there is to see. You wrap your hand around mine. Will we remember?

I know your hand.

The river passes silently through the glittering city night,
We walk along the busy path, so many faceless people pass as if spirits filled the air,
A ceaseless flow of translucent shapes, a miasma of unholy ghosts,
Spirits evanescing, perhaps, or just dreams of something not remembered vanishing from view,
A memory re-assembled - fragments are all that remain of a day we may have known.
We walk on, hand-in-hand while the river sings for us.
When the night becomes another day, clocks turn us all to dust.

It was your hand.

Another charge of electricty, nanovolts, almost nothing at all, but enough to arouse the memory that waits, or perhaps create a memory of something from nothing. I don't know but I know that I know. 
It is night, I feel tired, I am alone,
I watch the countless motes of dust dance in the lamp's dull glow, 
It is time.
Every picture fades, light destroyed by light,
We shall melt into the air, we shall be our own dreams and we shall sleep,
We are shadows, we are dust, we are all there is to know.
And so it is.
I felt your hand, I heard your voice, we sang the song.
A song for you, a song for me, a song for us.

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