(Memories) Lost and Found

Looking back and reflecting on the past has long been a strange and disorienting experience. I feel so detached and so far removed, that all those endless nights, bizarre happenings and hazy, dreamy days feel like they belong to another part of me; an old, lost me. Perhaps she lies festering in the cob-webbed recesses of my teenage mind, or else is broken and weathered, rusting and decomposing in a junkyard scrapheap somewhere in Speke. She might be a mass of seaweed hair and bloated blue, washed up along the shores of the River Mersey. Or maybe I left her sleeping soundly in a corn field in Sussex? Or sat at the top of the old tripping tree, where she is eternally stuck, never to come back down.

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~ by artmalikwolf on November 4, 2009.

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