An afterthought

I am holding on to ashes
of
juggled-
faltered-
conversations .
Memories,
altered
to suit your occasions.

Our words
have struggled
to fight the silence
that saw better times

In verses smuggled
through memory
in broken,
blurred rhymes.

and the past
that lives in letters-
in words,
syllables and lines.

poems,
shackled
in prosaic twines.
and aged leaves,
with wilted spines.

fettered-
by remnants of myself,
like an unanswered question,
in the past that we forgot.
Where in the parenthesized postscript-

I am an afterthought.

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