Ah, a poem for the mystics, Paul! My husband has a belief that a memory of an experience only lives as long as the last person who remembers it. Recently, he was talking about the childhood home that he and one of his brothers helped his father build. His father and mother are deceased, as is that brother. The rest of his siblings were too young at the time to remember or not born yet when the house was constructed. My husband is the last with the memory of that experience. The memory and the experience will die with him.

It’s mystical what happens to memories when final breaths are taken.

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I was always a writer but lived in a bookkeeper’s body before I found Medium and broke free — well, almost. Working to work less and write more.

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