In the racks of thoughts
some memories are hidden books.
Sleeping behind the slanting volumes
they seem to be out of place now.
But back then, there was a purpose
which is now forgotten.
A calculus text in a psychology row
that is what I wished for that
memory to become. Untraceable and
unconnected is what I had planned.
But now years after, my thoughts flow
in search of that memory like rainwater
in search of a depression in the plain surface.
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