Sometimes there are all the memories. Everything. You search for all the lost memories – even the ones that should be lost forever.
The scars are deep. So deep. You think it can be stitched up but. Everything.
I remembered a conversation from 1995. On the Hwy 69 curve just before it merges with I10. It might have been late 1994 but I find that less likely.
Another conversation in the library. 1998. It was a Saturday night. Can I have that day back? I don’t even know who that person is but I think I want to be him. He was an idiot which isn’t much different than the guy in the mirror now.
Bitterness on a long taxi ride. The mysteries are magnificent.
No this need not make sense to you. Several days from now it will not even make sense to me so fear not.
glad to hear it doesn’t need to make sense. What was so great about that guy you want to be?
Nothing great about him at all. He was me.