Did you ever remember that memory you weren’t supposed to? And it’s only in pieces now, but you dream of it. Everything reminds you of it, and you keep smelling this smell, but maybe those two aren’t related. I guess, I guess what I’m saying is, I can. I do, I mean. I remember that memory. I’m sorry I do. I don’t know who to be sorry to, but I am.
Did you ever find yourself thinking of a scene, of a place you went a million times, but never really stayed? You never thought anything of it. It was on a road somewhere, and you just drove. But for some reason, now it crosses your mind, like a photograph hanging, maybe it’s crooked or the lighting isn’t right. And it’s significant.
I do. It is. I keep thinking of it, it’s not just one, either. There are so many. And I keep going back, and trying to remember what it means, but maybe it doesn’t.
And then they seem to criss cross, these things. The memory. The picture. The dreams of dreams, of nightmares and memories. And maybe these are all the same, you know. Maybe I thought of them there, or that’s where I forgot, decided to forget. So my stomach turns, and I don’t know what comes next, because I let it go away then. I let the wondering stop, because it doesn’t. Not on its own, anyway. But I’ll dream of it. I can’t really let it go, anyway. It’s me, but I just keep feeling so sorry, but I don’t know who to be sorry to.