Memories

When I make memories I don’t worry about preserving them,

Making something tangible out of them; mementos.

I feel as if it takes you away from the moment itself.

I would prefer they exist only in our minds, our hearts.

Maybe that is because I believe,

too good they are to be embodied by physical restraint.

We shall remember, as we shall, in exaggerated beauty, if we may.

And when in times to come,

When the nights are silent, and the days dry,

We may share them again,

Make nights wilder and days seem shorter.

In ways you and I did in our youth.

In ways I did with you.

In ways you did with me.