Every life is a story Waiting to be written Every page turned is a memory We can look back at And as we keep flipping through this book More details appear before us In this book, every sentence is a second A record of a feeling long since gone The sentences add up Filling in the pages that are still blank Marking the time we have existed As the clock keeps ticking We do not know what the next page holds But we have Our collection from before And throughout this life The only thing we can call our own Are those pages we keep in our mind Our pages are limited, yet our stories are untold We must make the most out of them Because someday, when our books are completed And we are not there to read them These aging bound pages Will be all that is left of us
where my imagination takes flight.