January 15

There was something important about this morning

The dreams were there there,

Not bad, not good, seemingly important

But forgettable

Those ones you try to remember very much in the morning and fail terribly, every time


But the feeling that something special exists about this day stayed

Then an image of a yellow skirt somewhat emerged

From the purple of the mind that slowly turns into violet and mauve and then fades into a clear blank space

And then a flash of the Thursday of a January, exactly a year ago appeared


And never stayed, or did it

How long is a year?

This one seems to be longer than a lifetime

Like ageless existences

Like a loooong moment that carries with it histories it ordinarily considers heavy




Is it gone?


Can it go?



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