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Memories are like old movies;
I would watch some more than others,
We all have our preferences.

Standing on the ageless bridge,
A scene flickers in my head,
Torn from a broken film.

A small hand held by an older one;
A friendly voice talking slowly,
So my little ears can hear.

Suddenly the scene erupts:
I can see the shadows of the trees,
Wildlife whistling, river bustling;

Her voice comes into focus.
The little boy is too tired,
He cannot listen anymore;

And then the screen goes dark.
The camera abruptly stops.
I can’t believe what a fool I had been:

I furiously dig further;
I want to see her face,
But nothing’s coming up.

It seems to be
That my relationship with Granny
Is missing some key scenes.