it’s the eyes
they are the same
yesterday and today and tomorrow
recording and recording and recording
every moment…every syllable
as it has been said…

input is input,
but where does it go?
these memory banks get full
so something needs to go
shall we lose ourselves as children?
i think not…
it keeps us from getting old inside

maybe this is why we become child-like
in the sunset years…
we hold tight to our young selves
for fear of drowning in a sea of age…
for fear of dying in a self-imposed cage

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