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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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