Sometimes I’ll take a deep breath
and the air that fills my lungs smells of something gone.
Dusty VHS tapes.
An echo of childhood.
Or the taste of someone I can’t quite put my finger on.
Life has been getting busy, and I’ve felt so tired
I’ll try to slow down and
Start reading poetry at the dining room table
The table that I take too much pride in
Where the meals that adorn it are easily forgotten
Twenty five didn’t go how I wanted it to
Everything has become less sharp
All of my feelings, more often than not, are fragmented
But occasionally, to feel the feelings deeply, I’ll look back and read words that came from a younger version of me
I don’t like the way I used to think
Or talk
Or act
I don’t like to remember
But memory persists
And the moments feel like
A burn that hasn’t yet turned to paleness
A fire that never fell to ash
I don’t recognize the person I was
Or I’ve thoroughly repulsed myself to her
But maybe that’s just getting older
Realizing that the child that you were wasn’t innately good just because you were naive
If anything, that naivety brought out a cruelty I can hardly forgive
My memory is better than I’d like
I want to be good
I want to forget
0