Memory

Memory

It’s funny what the mind chooses to remember.

Of all the hours in all the days spent wasting time, only a small portion of odds and ends are retained in your mind.

For you they are just snippets; fleeting moments of a tragic young life.

The earliest memory you have is of a black horse.

You assume it’s your first pony ride.

You remember the way that the sun reflected off the bridle, and how it hurt your eyes.

You realized even at the age of four some things just weren’t meant to be tamed.

You remember the feeling of lying in tall summer grasses; the wind creating tributaries and pathways through its pale mass.

You remember your father looking up disdainfully at the stairs in your childhood home, too weak to climb.

You remember the rose colored glasses and look of obvious adoration your mother wore whenever she spoke of her other child.

You remember the first time you mistook his rejection for repressed affection.

There are some things you can never forget.

The monumental moments in your life seem to be encased in an intellectual haze; shrouded in false fondness, disguising an underlying theme of disappointment.

Graduation left you with a feeling of utter underwhelming.

Your wedding day vows were a cruel reminder of your ticking clock, ’till death do us part.’

His funeral; a sunny day when it really should have rained.

These recollections, when strung together and set into motion, are acts akin to speed reading; not knowing exactly what is happening, but understanding the overriding tone.

He seems to be able to construe the entire work, even if you only give him pieces.

He’s silently breaking down your life, taking it apart flaw by flaw.

You have contemplated the fact that you may only ever be a complexity to him.

A broken beauty queen, a walking enigma; a phenomenon just too anomalous for him to pass up.

Yes, there are things you will never forget.

You have a feeling tonight is going to be one of them.

You came to his home with no expectations.

You didn’t know if you would sleep together.

That hasn’t happened yet.

You observe his belongings up close, he balances a glass on the arm of his sofa.

He has many things, objects and knickknacks, that upon first glance seem unimportant and inconsequential, but you know he wouldn’t keep them if they didn’t mean something.

A faulty compass, an old film canister, and a dusty baseball are littered over his bookshelves, pulling the question from you,

“Why do keep all this stuff?”

You want to know what is important to him.

He stands from his place on the sofa,

“The world is nothing more than all the little things you’ve left behind.”

Little things.

Memories play at the forefront of your mind.

Feeling smooth beach glass, tearing open an envelope, tasting honey on your tongue.

He looks at you as though he can see them too, as if your entire life were subject to his scrutiny.

“Why am I here?” you ask.

“You love me remember?” he says, plain as day.

Did you have a drink?

Your mind is clouded.

“I tried not to,” you knew it would hurt to care for him.

You still don’t want to love this man, “I’ll try not to.”

He knows that is one vow you won’t keep.

“That’s a promise you’ll only make.”

You walk to his bedroom doorway and wait for him.

There is a hall between you now.

You want to sleep with him, you want him to drive the images out of your head.

Wind through your fingers, the sharp pull of sutures, blood dripping from your lip.

Every little thing your mind deemed necessary to remember is coming back, unfurling over one another, coalescing into a cacophony of dissonance.

He drifts towards you.

You are faintly aware that he is leaning towards your mouth.

The instant he kisses you is when clarity begins.

Anything before this moment means nothing.

The dissonance falls and fades into melody.

All your memories have dissolved.

You only hope you don’t forget this.