I can only remember pieces,
in fragments.
I cannot say this is a shattered
dream, for I
don’t exactly remember if
I had a
dream about you.
__
The Sanctuarium holds the piece
of paper that I gave you.
Somewhere
in the middle of the Avenue,
you gave the same paper
and I buried it,
for memory’s sake.
But I don’t remember
what’s written on it.
My memories are slipping
and I am scared.
It seems that I have lived in
a memory which didn’t actually exist
— bizarre.
__
And if one day, the time comes,
that I don’t remember
anything at all,
I want you to do me a favor—
forget about me too.
Very gloomy.