There is a place inside of me that remembers.
It’s not such a small place so I am surprised how often forgetting happens.
Maybe if it wasn’t for the fact of how deliciously painful it is to remember — how seductive, how raw, then forgetting would be more tolerable.
What a clever thing, the mind, and how tempting to surrender to. Again.
But there are other things, ocean-deep fathomless things, that wave their arms wildly at me and tug at my shirt sleeves imploring me to return.
And so I do, I make my way home, sinking comfortably into the throne of being, into the enchanted dark forest of here.
How good to remember.