Monday, March 13, 2017

Memory

Memory
3/11/2017

Yes, I do remember.
You told me a story.
It was beautiful, I know,
and important
because you told me.
So I smiled
and vowed not to forget
this time.

And then, I felt the wind blow through my mind,
gently,
softly.
Deceiving me into thinking all is fine.

But then your beautiful words started to
slip through my fingers,
slip out of my grasp,
like delicate autumn leaves
blowing in that gentle wind.

And I reached out to grasp that memory
(to hold it close)
(to keep it with me)
but it was already gone.

I chased the thoughts
but could only find
bits and pieces
scattered

now shattered
(like broken bits of glass)
I try to pick them up.
But it's like my fingers are
cut, bruised, bleeding.

Your eyes search mine.
They ask, without words,

Do I remember?
No. 

So - please - tell me again. 

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