Patchouli dreams stir old memories,
Like pulling old photo albums from the shelf,
Dusty, grainy, somehow burned,
But that’s because one of us keeps trying,
Keeps trying to burn this memory down,
But I’ll save it,
I’ll remember,
Even if I’m all that’s left,
Of this broken home we built,
In an Autumn of long ago.
Discarded Recollections 