It’s hard to feel

Like any of my thoughts matter

So many thoughts have already been spoken, and written, and shared

They shape my thoughts

But my thoughts stand alone – they are unique

 

If I could, I would have

A book

With all of my thoughts.

Because I think many things,

But forget almost all

Even the things

I want to remember

 

In heaven, there must be a library

Perhaps somewhere among its shelves, there is a book

With my memories

and thoughts

And I can settle it in my lap, and open it, and remember

 

The joy

and sorrows

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