AxelKilroy

old pond . . . a frog leaps in water’s sound This place is no place, but a memory.  Cool waters, warm breeze - frozen deep underground.  There is a light where no light reaches.  A door that does not open, windows without glass.  There is no noise. Memories.  They are fuzzy along the edges - they are always fading. What is now is now just a memory.  We live off of our memories: they feed our minds.  Without them, we are lost.  Without them, we are buried deep underground.  But a light still shines there.