Memory

It's odd, what I remember.

 

 

Sometimes the memories are so sharp and clear that I'm there and I know the color of the shirt I was wearing, and the people in the background, and the room; sometimes each word of the convesation rolls around in my head like marbles in a jar, hitting each other then and again.

 

 

I remember the feelings.

Wrenching grief and terrible pain and stomach turning fear and hard anger and awkwardness.

Red faced.

If I'm lucky maybe overflowing contentment or bubbling excitement, or happiness.

Smiling.

 

 

But sometimes I want to remember, long to remember

And there is nothing.

Empty.

Barren.

Hours,

days.

Lost.

 

 

I remember a back turning and the black curtains that hung on either side boxing me in and swishing when you knocked them aside like you knocked me

I remember my eyes burning and the car closing in in me and feeling so angry and betrayed that I almost wanted to hit you but something- the last whisps of respect or just habit- stopped me.

I remember the disapproval and disappointment written accross your face and the strength it took to keep not caring and the sun on my neck and a drop of sweat trailing down my back and the logo on your shirt that I kept reading iver and over because maybe if I could focus on that stupid shirt then then knot in my throat would go away.

I remember the boredom of math class and the stupid point-slope equation in red ink on the board and the teacher there continually shoving her glasses back up and them falling down again, again, and the air condition humming and my leg bouncing and my arms freezing.

 

 

And they tell me I'm smart.

But I just remember.

And they tell me I'm lucky.

But I don't feel like that.

 

 

Because I've got dates and ewuations and single moments and conversations and sensations for all eternity, but birthdays and vacations have long since faded.

Sometimes I try to cling to a memory. 

But even as I try to go there it's slipping away.

 

Sometimes I wonder who I would be

If I remembered more of who I am.