A Straight Line Known as Arc

While marching on in a straight line
I searched for that which never ends
But rather upon itself it bends
Its fragrant particles leaving behind
A scent of me
A scent of you
In time forever known as past

Came to discover in my delight
That past does not always mean done
For time had reached its arc again
And back it bent to lift me up
I travel down its road once more
With my companion at my side

Our memories again unite
Engraved they are into our souls
Indelibly etched upon our hearts
Some are heavy
Some are light
Blended together, they form us

Pushing any of them aside
Would interrupt the precious fate
We so endeavored to redefine
As time resumed its forward march
In a straight line known as arc



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