Memories remain etched on an old vintage mirror framed in teak.
Each of them reminds me each day sometimes in clusters of distant galaxies bound unbound like old streets like older buildings smelling only of you.
Memories are coins with two sides, each side shows a different sky we shared.
I hold aloft the mirror when it seems I am tumbling. Ageing is not the mirror etched with our memories streamlined in haphazard fashion. They all live within me.
