How does one hold on to moments?

How does one hold on to moments? You wish so much to turn them into tiny cubes and hide them in your pocket so that you – checking no one can see you – can take them out and feel them again and again.

How does a gaze, as normal as a gaze, makes you trust in love? How do your lips that seem to detest all music at other times serenade into cute little jingles? How does it happen that the time stop with the caresses, but the clock never does?

The moments fly like a butterfly and I ruminate into times hoping to catch a glimpse on my canvas so that they stay. They never do.

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