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.