Memories are fickle little things
I watch your gait as you move through a crowd
Is it you after all?
Your laugh and your gaze
Ignite flames but the lighter clicks
And never catches hold
Of my stray dreams and gut feelings
Whenever I smell sweet smoke
Or the slightest whiff of your voice in monotone over my stereo.
Perhaps we need it this way
Perhaps time has bound our brains.
Ragtag Daily Prompt: Strain