Lying on my cosy bed
Watching the raindrops
Falling on my window
My mind flashing back
With lots of memories
Some are hauntingly creepy
Some are fond memories
Of love and passion
We remember our memories
Not because we can’t let go
We remember them because
We have the courage to face them
Memories give us a history
A history for us to recollect
A narrative for us to tell
The story to ourselves
The raindrops keep falling
And my mind keeps dripping
The songs keep playing
Telling me stories after another
I don’t have a nice story to tell
But my narrative is nothing less
Of what flesh and blood constitute
Perhaps, you have a story tonight?
Anthropology 