Old Photos–1997

I cry for my childhood–
–But not for the loss.

I cry because I look at the old photographs,
and can’t remember names.
The place, captured in time, but I
can’t time the place.

So much has happened–
–so much bad to be blocked out, that
the good stuff has fallen through the holes.

I cry for my childhood–
–for the lost memories that
I was supposed to cherish when I grew up.

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