Streets in Cambridge

Untitled

Is not it profound how music and smell
provoke memory?
Talk unto a memory
and be ridiculous,
the past is no place to live.

It captures me and tortures me 
because those faces I cannot see,
those ears I will never have
and their company never keep. 

Regret. The paths back exist
all too vividly without form
but without function too,
it never gives in.

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