Memories
      It
     
    

    
     
      by
      JACK
      D.
      PROUD
     
    

    
     
      With
      careful
      and
      unintentional
      steps,
      I
      found
      myself
      by
      the
     
     
      abandoned
      train
      station
      we
      must
      have
      passed
      a
      hundred
     
     
      times.
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
      As
      I
      crushed
      out
      my
      half-smoked
      cigarette
      with
      the
      heel
      of
     
     
      my
      favourite
      shoes,
      I
      heard
      your
      voice
      with
      the
      same
      waver-
     
     
      ing
      force
      as
      always.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      My
      stomach
      and
      heart
      felt
      unguarded
      as
      they
      leaped
      in
     
     
      unison
      with
      me
      at
      the
      sound
      of
      my
      name.
      I
      closed
      my
      eyes
     
     
      and
      as
      I
      turned
      around,
      for
      a
      brief
      moment,
      nothing
      else
     
     
      mattered.
      A
      thousand
      pictures
      turned
      chaotically
      in
      my
     
     
      paralysed
      mind.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Irecalled
      our
      bright
      summer
      days
      together,
      our
      many
      walks
     
     
      through
      the
      calm
      autumn
      forest,
      and
      those
      cold
      winter
      nights
     
     
      by
      the
      fire,
      which
      not
      only
      burned
      radiant
      in
      our
      hearts,
      but
     
     
      our
      souls
      as
      well.
      I
      relived
      our
      spring
      picnics
      in
      the
      lush
     
     
      meadows
      behind
      the
      old
      farm
      by
      the
      river,
      where
      we
      met
      and
     
     
      fell
      in
      love.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Although
      we
      spoke
      of
      our
      love
      only
      once,
      it
      was
      enough
      to
     
     
      quench
      our
      thirst
      for
      a
      lifetime.
      I
      also
      recalled
      the
      morning
     
     
      you
      left.
      Your
      raven
      hair
      fell
      softly
      over
      your
      almost
      perfect
     
     
      face
      and
      seemed
      to
      dance
      when
      touched
      by
      the
      golden
      sun,
     
     
      which
      had
      just
      arisen,
      as
      if
      it
      know
      of
      your
      departure.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      I
      cannot
      remember
      what
      was
      said;
      it
      didn’t
      matter.
      I
      can
     
    
   
   
    
     
      only
      remember
      the
      mist
      in
      my
      cold
      eyes
      as
      your
      gentle
      gaze
     
     
      met
      mine
      for
      the
      last
      time.
      I
      also
      recalled
      thinking
      this
     
     
      scene
      was
      from
      a
      movie
      we
      saw
      together,
      but
      I
      couldn’t
     
     
      remember
      the
      name,
      and
      it
      still
      alludes
      me.
     
    

    
     
      Then
      you
      were
      gone.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      These
      memories
      of
      you,
      like
      pictures
      in
      a
      scrapbook,
      took
      a
     
     
      lifetime
      to
      assemble,
      but
      only
      a
      moment
      to
      view.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Just
      like
      the
      candle
      I
      light
      every
      night
      since
      our
      parting
     
     
      flickers
      with
      the
      breeze
      coming
      from
      the
      open
      crack
      in
      my
     
     
      window,
      so
      did
      my
      heart
      as
      I
      opened
      my
      eyes,
      and
      as
      they
     
     
      searched
      for
      yours,
      they
      filled
      with
      that
      familiar
      stinging
     
     
      mist
      as
      before.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Was
      it
      my
      heart
      that
      deceived
      me,
      or
      the
      wind
      taunting
      me?
     
     
      As
      I
      walked
      onward,
      I
      felt
      as
      though
      we
      has
      shared
      these
     
     
      moments
      over
      again,
      as
      was
      suddenly
      terrified
      to
      leave
      the
     
    
   
   
    
     
      spot
      where
      I
      heard
      your
      voice
      and
      my
      name.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      I
      venture
      out
      to
      that
      old
      abandoned
      train
      station
      almost
      every
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
      IAAODS
     
    
   
   
    
     
      day
      now,
      still
      wearing
      my
      favourite
      shoes,
      in
      hopes
      the
     
     
      play
      ful
      wind
      will
      duplicate
      your
      voice
      just
      one
      more
      time.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      I
      think
      I’1l
      leave
      earlier
      tomorrow.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Believing
     
    

    
     
      by
      ALANAJARVIS
     
    

    
     
      Take
      a
      look
      around
      us,
     
    

    
     
      tell
      me
      what
      you
      see.
     
    

    
     
      Do
      you
      know
      the
      answers?
     
     
      on
      what
      we
      should
      believe
      :
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Life
      is
      going
      nowhere,
     
    

    
     
      it
      seems
      like
      time
      is
      standing
      still.
     
     
      What
      happened
      to
      the
      love
      and
      care?
     
     
      Where
      is
      the
      end
      of
      this
      hill?
     
    
   
   
    
     
      They
      preach
      ‘‘Make
      Love,
      Not
      War’’
     
     
      and
      to
      give
      a
      helping
      hand
      :
     
     
      Tell
      me
      what
      we
      are
      fighting
      for?
     
     
      Watch
      us,
      as
      we
      destroy
      our
      hand.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Ill
      take
      a
      look
      around
      here
     
    

    
     
      and
      tell
      you
      what
      I
      see,
     
    

    
     
      People
      that
      disguise
      this
      fear,
     
    

    
     
      and
      deny
      what
      they
      really
      believe
      ...
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Truth
     
     
      by
      ALANA
      JARVIS
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Do
      stories
      begin
      from
      the
      hurt
     
    

    
     
      or
      just
      from
      others
      who
      like
      to
      blurt
     
     
      I
      don’t
      know,
      maybe
      both
     
    

    
     
      either
      way
      its
      a
      very
      sad
      joke
     
    
   
   
    
     
      He
      said
      that;
      and
      she
      told
      me
     
    

    
     
      its
      all
      a
      vicious
      circle,
      can’t
      you
      see
     
    

    
     
      the
      truth,
      this
      way,
      we
      will
      never
      receive
     
     
      because
      it
      all
      becomes
      what
      your
      made
      to
      believe
     
    
   
   
    
     
      It’s
      your
      own
      mind,
      so
      try
      to
      use
      it.
     
    

    
     
      Don’t
      be
      always
      letting
      others
      abuse
      it
     
     
      Someday
      we’ll
      find
      the
      truth
      shining
      through
     
     
      by
      remembering
      that
      words
      are
      not
      always
      true