Memories are strange things-
So important to us, but hanging on fragile strings.
There's so little we can truly do
To keep them from taking on wings.

They leave us in time, replaced with the new.
They run, and flee, and hide from you.
Only to resurface-all in due time.
To bring you up, or make you blue.

They come in oh so many kinds
And fill up our empty minds
With love and hate and so many things
The one's you've lost, you may one day find.