In the quiet hours, when the world is still,
Memories linger like shadows at will.
Once bright and vivid, they begin to fade,
Lost in corners where silence is made.
Time, the thief with gentle hands,
Steals moments like grains of sand.
What was once so clear, so near,
Now drifts away, no longer here.
Faces blur, voices grow faint,
What was real, becomes quaint.
Laughter echoes in the distant past,
Fading quickly, too fast, too fast.
We cling to what we can’t hold tight,
Moments slipping into the night.
The heart aches for what it knew,
But the mind forgets what was true.
Forgetting is not sudden, but slow,
A quiet process we barely know.
Until one day, we look and see,
Memories, now ghosts of what used to be.
But in the forgetting, there’s peace,
A gentle letting go, a quiet release.
For what’s gone may not return,
Yet from the ashes, new memories burn.
