Memories are Made of This

Experiences that are branded, scorched into the mind. We’re forbidden to remember them but terrified to forget.

We walk down the street, a collection of all the pieces we can recall . . . and that’s it. A pile of memories that we hope will be a memory in itself.

Other instances will be gathered. Where will they fall on the pyramid of exceptionalities? How majestic can we make them? Or, are they merely found?

A promised lunch that was never shared. A rose; in December.

I’m beginning to forget this idea I’ve had before. Another potential place to go . . .

erased off the map.

Published by Kumi

Liaison to the Infinite.

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