She writes her thoughts
While they're still hers
She writes down things she's heard
In moments she looks at the page
And no longer sees her words

Living in the moment
Is living half asleep
The future's not yet hers to have
The past, not hers to keep

Her fights are fought in fleeting
Time to forget, but not forgive
Time to live a life
But not to choose a life to live

Faces she can look upon
But never truly see
"I remember you my dear;
Don't you remember me?"

If forgetfulness is ignorance
And ignorance is bliss
Then bliss is nothing more than
Intermittent emptiness