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Sitting
on a picnic blanket under the trees
we
contemplated our past people
while
staring out at the open grass.
We
aren’t sad anymore, only interested,
in
how memories fold into each other
and
disintegrate into tiny pieces,
lodging
themselves in song lyrics,
or
the smiles of familiar people that walk past.
Copyright
Briana Jamieson
© 2024