Writing

Time slips slowly over faded lines.
Things long since remembered fade back into focus.
Thoughts flourish at the strokes.
Lines curve the thoughts past and present, flowing from the rememberance.
Ages since these times brought forth but seemingly relative.
Pauses, aching for the simpler times when things seemed easy and people were naive.
These times, like the marks upon the structured lines, have ended.
Sometimes too abruptly.
These are fixed and made to be whole again,
When really, they were only masked to seem whole again.
Then suddenly, these marks fade just as the time which occupied them.
Ended by one remark.
Finally.