At the edge of twilight-- that moment
when all is familiar, yet a sense
of the unfathomable permeates all,
Awareness comes-- It is not.

Memory-
A moment of vulnerability. A need,
unspoken, a pledge of strength and steadfastness.
A moment gone too soon--
It had lasted too long.

Something came unbidden-
Too strange, too different,
Not at all unfamiliar--
The memory is lost-- drowned in reality.

Memory? A dream.
It is not, and never was.

Imagined-
The cool wind dispels the last tendrils of a wistful haze.
Maybe-- a whisper quelled.
"Nevermore," quoth he of brilliant white, with clarity.

Memory-
Unfettered tears, the softest touch
Emanating warmth,
A silent embrace.

Warm raindrops fall on this cloudless night.

Moonlight illumines a treeless path.
It forks, but direction does not waver.
Familiar too, this-
The faint scent of warm rain,
of a memory that is not and never was-
Of something unsaid-- that is not, and never will be.

Penned by my hand on the 18th of Scarlatan, in the year 595 AF.