There is far, far too much information in this world.

Tending to gradually lose the pieces that make me
(Forgetting my own history)
Unable to paint the sights I see
Transfiguring stories by-heart to a forlorn mystery

It certainly makes letting go easier, though. How will you be unnecessarily attached to memories if you can't remember them? Sometimes I wish I could forget the ones presently bothersome and be free of the traps I have inadvertently set for myself. But that's the weakness of a moment.

I couldn't possibly forget you.

A quiet kindness and those sweet talks,
Perhaps too soon close together; the powdery chalk,
Traces our lines on the uncharted territory we walk,
Now left with dusty memories to stalk.

And I haven't forgotten the others, either. Perhaps the sentiments I felt in those moments are far away, playing for short, unaffected moments, often linked to certain sounds. I know certain scenes made me terribly sad, but they were important to me. Yet I cannot remember them, no matter how hard I try.

A blessing or a curse? Perhaps both? There must certainly be some negatives to being sheltered.

Why do I forget so easily? I hold on to you so that I do not forget, but perhaps I am unable to let go of a future once imagined...

Glad and singing,

Balanced, comforting.

...because of that.

How did I once let go of that bothersome curiosity without diminishing the reality? So many years ago... if someone offered me the answer, I would still take it, that's for sure. But it no longer troubles me.

It seems I diminish my true sentiments every time after that one. I do not want to this time?

Or... what if I am... no, that isn't true.

Is this a vicious cycle? I know I have been the same for a long time, but losing these pieces of myself-

Oh but, I see that one baffling image and it unravels.
An earlier mention of one of them's name, and it piles up, fragile;
Perhaps not yet too much, but I am already scrambled,
And this addition to those no longer with me (in some form or another),
Does not sit well with me, no matter how far back I travel.

History suggests it will become a faded past, eventually, but with that will probably come another person, and the unnerving fear of losing them.

Can I let go without replacement? I want to. It may be what I want the most.

Almost the most.