Time is a great healer they say
But I wonder if it just intensifies everything
Like a pickle or preserve maturing over the years
Ripe and aromatic and bursting with flavour
Memories can be like that—deceptively delicious
You return to them over and over and each time
They’re different and seem to take on new flavours
Their textures can feel different to the touch
Their colours rich, dark and deep like rum-soaked raisins
Then one day you return to them like a long-lost lover
And everything is just off
The memories are sour
And the things that grew into those memories?
They no longer exist
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