I used to keep track of the stories, used to carry them around with me, because forgetting was scary, it was terrifying to imagine having lived and having forgotten,
"we only have what we remember", yeah, and all that
but (the shift)
at some point I wanted to forget,
and I forgot
how to remember,
and I set the stories down on a bench somewhere
like a canvas bag full of old books, they were so heavy,
and I willed myself to forget them.
I left them.
We only have what we remember,
and I want to hold nothing.
I want to open my eyes, one time,
one day, and find myself naked
and empty handed.
I want to remember again, and the first thing I'll go looking for
is the feeling of waking, weightless,
without the comedown crash of consciousness,
that 'oh yeah', that 'oh, that'.
I am afraid the canvas will never be clean again.
I am afraid that the damage has been done.
I can't remember where I left my books.
I may never find them.