It sounds like Déjà Vu


There is this song that never ceases to call upon
My past to dance with and play hopscotch, hopping
Over my broken memories, jumping over a jumping rope
Also called my heartstrings. I will myself not to
Stop them.

The restraint is masked by my own hands as I turn them
Into heavy stones beside me, for I refuse to
Give the song the satisfaction that it has made me deaf
To its truth. I refuse to be ignorant. And so I allow
The song to play on in the background, as I once more
Visit the old graveyard. I lay wilted roses over each
And every dead memory of mine, and blurred faces
I no longer wish to see. I stand back in silence,
Listening to absolutely nothing, yet something at the
Same time as the song ends and flings my past back to
Me as if it were trash.

I accept it.

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