I wander along the path of my memory. Laid under, green
leaves shades of uncertainty. But these days I, skew
things a bit to favorably. I can no longer tell.
If it was real? Or maybe in a dream? Or maybe somewhere
in between? Caught up on a memory, that never was. The
unreliability of my memory will be the death of my
So I look for a shred of objectivity, but still I can't
seem to shake the proclivity. For pushing, out of mind
the things I couldn't stand. And I know it's true..
That you were not, the way I see you now, I reminisce a
romanticized ideal caught up on a dirty lie, that never
was. The unreliability of my memory will be the death of
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