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Memories . . .Why do my fond memories fly so fast?
I keep those memories in my head but sometimes I can hardly grasp . . .
Why doesn't anyone else remember?
Only I remember those nice or important moments.
Why do I miss my childhood so much?
Things were easier and more fun.
I do make my life fun still because I can't let go of my kid-self yet.
I don't think I ever will.
And I hope I never do.
That kid-self is me.
Even if those memories are over and missed.
Why do we forget?
It seems so odd to forget.
To forget who we are.
Or to forget those childhood friends.
But isn't it odd to remember too?
Trying to climb the roof next to your best friend's house,
playing Hide 'n' Seek in the dark against her brother and his friend(s).
Or talking on the phone for hours about nothing important.
Crossing the busy road everyday to go jump on the trampoline or go to the dollar store.
Those memories fade each year . . .
And my tears fill those empty memories of the past.
But it seems like there's no soft pillow to wip
MS5: Chapter Thirty-Seven Chapter Thirty-Seven:
James and I left and went to Cameron's house. There was something I always wanted to see in his house and get a good look at it. James laid down in Cameron's bed shirtless.
"I'm gonna take one last look around, James." I told him sadly.
"Alright. Take your time." I headed towards the room filled with his art. The art of my mother.
I pulled the handle gently but the door was locked. I sighed and sat down criss-crossed in front of the door. I closed my eyes for a second and then I heard the door unlock. I looked up surprised as the door slowly opened. It seemed like the room glowed, filled with his treasures. I pulled the dangling lightswitch from the ceiling and saw detailed dolls, puppets, drawings, paintings, poems, and
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