Small, small fragments.
Kept tidy, hidden away.
Just small segments.
Of happiness without dismay.

True, memories may vanish.
But it all depends on me.
Happiness don’t just perish.
How forgetful I may be.

Hate is a strong word I can’t use,
even when my feelings diffuse.
I hope we can call it truce,
after all you’re always my muse.

Because the good memories stay and the bad ones go.


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