The past will never be,
That nostalgia robs you of the truth of,
Present reality,
For reflection happens in the moment,
Just like everything else,
Just like some have no memory at all,
And have no meaningful sense of the self.
Reliving emotions and what you thought,
In worlds far and gone by,
Is proof that the life you're living in now,
Must also surely die.
The past will never be?
Isn't that the real lie,
That any experience could fall short,
Simply for where in the brain it resides?
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