Feeling no regret for late nights.
A fleeting tinnitus to write
The games of old...
What joy they hold...
Improvised at the last second.
Surprised by the words beckoned.
The memories of the past...
Inscribed to forever last...
When I arrive at thoughts of her,
A faded convivial feeling occurs.
The games we would play...
Hold true to this day...
When I think of my other friends,
How the memories do blend.
How they seep from my mind
Into fiction they're entwined...
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