Do you ever forget that you’re alive?
Sometimes I forget.
Like today I remembered while filling up my empty glass
with cool water in the snowy moonlight of the kitchen window.
I forgot I was alive.

It’s something I do.
It’s like looking up from beneath the surface of water
numbed by the safe tepid suspension.
We all have our defenses that protect us from living.
Sometimes the defense is forgetting you’re alive in the first place.
You can make decisions,
talk to people,
but never really be there. . .
never touch. . .
never taste. . .
never smell. . .
never hear. . .
never feel. . .

never commit sensation to memory
out of a deeper fear
of being in that moment
because a moment can last an eternity.

So sometimes I forget because I remember pain.