I got drunk one time and tried to Google one of my memories. Upon discovering that it didn't work that way, I pushed my laptop to the floor and wept bitterly.
I think I remember it all; I think everything is tucked away safely.
And then I see a photograph,
hear a song,
smell the scent of patchouli and cologne,
and some random moment will come, fleetingly, hazy,
before disappearing again,
leaving me grasping at the smoke.
I've utterly forgotten touches,
the nuances.
Push the blanket over my head,
and strain against the dark,
seeking what I'm losing day by day.
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