Memories, when a colorless, yet white, void persists timelessly.
When the Neural Pathways unravel, do they unravel?
Or do I force it into a type of eternal termination?
Before Memories, when two children ungracefully frolic after fireflies.
Again and again, the turquoise crabgrass transitioned to dust and raised once more.
All throughout, there was no waver in the pursuit.
Memories, who utters linguistical melodies of its own name.
Attempting to be heard, but who is to hear, who is to say?
Or Neurons narrate nothing, deriving words merely through the contemplator’s madness?
Before Memories, who tried to paint and sculpt, poetry and prose.
An ink pen and paint brush grace the artist’s tapestry anxiously.
Searching for a likeness to place on a vacant canvas.
Memories, what of Before Memories persists?
Does mathematics masquerade continually as some form of universal uniformity?
Or does the world mean nothing without landmarks to inflict it to?
Before Memories, what families gather, and lifeforms wither.
A familial trifecta shares a moment in a dimmed room.
Bodies sinking into bubbly couches, never ceasing to understand they’re someplace special.