Ode to a fading spirit
I remember when the sound of life was your voice

   the definition of sustenance was the smell of rice cooking

This is me:

 
grasping at a winding path of self discovery
    the desperation for solace
      the longing for beginnings.

This is you:

  swirled in a semi-consciousness of an old song
    the repression of a child long-since found
      the slow, dismal waves of an ocean once blue.
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