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They say it’s out there, but they’re lying. You haven’t seen it in a while and the memory of how it feels is history. Is it sweet? Does it laugh? How drunk does it get you?

If at one point it made you dance, you can’t remember. Your legs are stiff.
If yesterday it melted the snow in your winter, yesterday must be in a different century, because you are frozen.
If tomorrow it comes knocking at your door, you know you’re dreaming — it’s busy changing the world; someone else’s.

How will you ever look outside and see if it’s there? Why would you, when it’s a stranger?

Perhaps just miss it a bit more and then forget it ever existed. Once faded, it is powerless. No music, no twinkle, no whisper can ever bring it back to life.

Just miss it a bit more.