I won’t remember writing this.
And it’s funny.
Because I can remember with excruciating accuity everything I know about the person that inspired ninety percent of everything I’ve written.
You can quote my own words back to me minutes after I’ve penned them.
I won’t recognize them.
I can sit down at a bar and write a poem on a napkin about the girl three seats down on a whim.
And not remember a word of it or her probably.
But ****** if it wouldn’t take a lobotomy, I’ll never forget Colibri.