Our fantasies masquerade as memories and
Sit demurely on the shelf with reality itself.
They satisfy the soul’s longing for belonging
To a permanent reality unencumbered by the
catastrophic finality we know lies in store
on the other side of this life’s creaky door.
We become someone made up of flights
Of fancy and deep desire to be admired by
Those we love and shove our way to the
Front of the line just in time for time to fade.
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