Words only mean as much as interpretive dance

It entered my heart as a memory of something beautiful as my memory failed me yet again.
Did you not know, the difference? Between the memory of a heart and that of your head?
A memory of the heart floats indifferently through you like a cotton fluff past your face, unlikely to register in your peripheral.
If you could be so lucky as to connect with this feather, catalogue it.
Never let it go again.

Never let your mind blank long enough to cease to feel that tender tickling of the heart that comes with nostalgia.

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