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.