They Are Mine After All

Upon returning to my hometown of Prague I say down at the vista and looked down at the city. I realized it became uncommon to me.

The spires I've seen a thousand times have become far and foreign muddled with new memories in shapes of similar patterns. Am I afraid I will forget, of change that I will mistake one for another in a speech somewhere and display a fool? Tonight when I close my eyes one last time on my own terms I will treat my memories the same way. Remember it as I do.