Prequel

Sometimes I don't know why
These thoughts pop into this little head of mine
There seems to be no invitation
Nor a pattern to their timing
But they come and I entertain them
These jarring memories
Despite the state I know they will leave me
Late nights in parks
Early morning commutes
Specific instances you wouldn't think I'd remember
But I most certainly do
Long-held adoring gazes
Remarkable and ordinary places
The kind of forgettable conversations
You cherish in the moment
And later lose to the ages
It seems I've repressed or buried
To make room for the more contemporary
It scares me to know I can do it
But comforts me to know I can't lose it
I remember specifics,
In color
Street names and dinner menus
Decor on the walls and fabric patterns Smells of little plates wafting from winding alleyways
I remember tour guides and texts
I remember shared showers and walks in the rain
Kicking oranges, missing couches, deciding what shapes the clouds were
Painting houses, missing flights
The sounds from holding on too tight
The smiles of kids
The tears of moving on and staying behind
Like a broken dam they flood in
No longer holding my finger in the hole
Flashing like lighting through my mind Rumbling like thunder as they roll
I can picture cupcakes and sandwiches
Fighting hard to see dawn
Tiny dresses and new haircuts
Trying to belong
I remember challenges and learning
Apologies and hurting
Learning what it takes to be human
Trolleys trains and vineyards
Candy canes and winter
Breakfasts lunches and dinners
Tweezers stabbing splinters
I remember awe followed by awful
Collapse followed by laughter
Tragedy turned to history
Ice cream and other treats
There were notes quotes and paddle boats
Support in the form of happy hopes
Still not sure how I remember all the details
I can't wait for the sequel