I wonder what I truly remember after all the times I reminisce.

Could it be true memories,

Or just skewed visions amiss?

Sometimes I remember swinging in the back yard,

kicking my legs up all the way to the sky;

You'd be right there next to me,

smiling, soaring past heavens guards.

Sometimes I think,

this pretty time-captured moment

should have been a big little hint;

Like one of those badly added foreshadowing

plots in the books my teachers taught me about.

Other memories of the past aren't so crystal clear;

I think I could of fused some together too,

With that sticky little thing called grout. 

Sometimes I wonder what I actually remember,

and if what I remember is you.

I guess it doesn't really matter,

as long as the I think they're true.