Memories like hand-me-downs:
Worn tirelessly yet momentarily,
Until their rips and tears
Allow their precious Reminiscence to escape.
Clothes passed to the next host,
A vicious cycle,
Until all that remains is dust.

Now only the empty bodice
Of the woven fibers remains,
The magic,
The inspiration,
The knowledge…
The life it contained
Now tosses, mixes, combines
With the airy spirit of the rest.

The clothes are but a witness
To the wearer’s correspondence with Experience.
The clothes are but a channel
To contain the fiery wisdom of the Learned.
The clothes are but clothes;
Their memories drift away,
disperse,
blend,
connect,
live…
All while the hand-me-downs decay,
Just the same
As us.