sometimes i think i would be happier if my memory were not so good.
i wish that, when i looked at my clock this past monday, early morning after midnight, i hadn’t known where i was exactly a year earlier, and what i was saying, and with whom. i wish that this weekend i weren’t going to be thinking about grass and stars and strawberries and pink underwear. i wish that this morning i hadn’t been seized with the sudden memory of the way the nighttime lights on lake shore drive look through a fog of tears.
and so under the weight of a long memory, a chest cold, and an extensive to-do list, i am muddling through my week.
there are red roses on my desk, though, and they haven’t yet started dropping leaves all over everything.