The tighter we hold them,
The quicker they flee,
Friends, hope, and memory.
They burn to ash in our grasp,
Sift through our fingers.
Only smoke lingers.

Perhaps all that’s precious
Is destined to fade.
It couldn’t have stayed,
And nothing we strive for
Is meant to remain,
What we fight to attain.

But did we truly fight?
When memory fails,
We lose the details.
Did we keep them close?
Did we let them slip,
Slacken our grip?

Were they lost or tossed away?
Was it they who chose to run
Or we who chose to abandon?
The truth of whether
They were lost or thrown
Remains unknown.

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