as surely wind weathered down by human sounds
truly though I am but the same as all surround;
I have traveled so far in my own small time
yet feel the draw of a straight line path, that pulls back
and out on that string-
you were here, with me, always
and never- sincerely;
if you are the same person at all, anymore (am I?)
how can I pen fantasy from a dream, tell me
or reality from a memory past, please (tell me)
how the years have eroded me
or I suppose, brought me bone to core
all the more-
my hope lies on these exposed insides
the façade worn off long ago, the shine, gone in elements
if only I could trace the words over again
with sorrowed fringes, fingers, then again, and rebuild

but for erosion-

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