Memories of the past

Det er et lille engelsk 'digt', som jeg lige følte for at skrive.
Måske vil nogle af jer mene, at det er trist, så derfor satte jeg også aldersgrænsen på gul.
Det er meget personligt for mig, da det har en del med mine personlige følelser og tanker at gøre.

Alt konstruktivt kritik er velkommen!

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1. A burning memory

I’m a memory of the past. Easily forgotten.
A shadow walking down the street, while others are bright and full of colour.
I’m the one, whom you will not remember.
When you think back, you will think of everyone but me.
Because I wasn’t there, or at least you don’t recall me being there.
Too quiet.
Too simple.
And such a small personality.
I wasn’t there, or was I?
Who knows.
Who cares.
And even if you recall me, you won’t be able to remember my name.
My looks.
My laugh.
My smile.
My personality.
Me.
You won’t remember me.
And know I write on this little paper.
My feelings and insecurities.
Everything is written.
But nothing will be remembered.
Like me. 
Now this little piece of paper, will get burnt and buried in the depths of all these ashes of memories.

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