[memory] Visits When It Is Hungry, Not

It's Like The Smell Of Burned Toast. You Made The Toast. You Looked Forward To It. You Even Enjoyed Making It, But It Burned. What Were You Doing? Was It Your Fault? It Doesn't Matter Anymore. You Open The Window, But Only The Very Top Layer Of The Smell Goes Away. The Rest Remains Around You. It's The Walls. You Leave The Room, But It's On Your Clothes. You Change Your Clothes, But It's In Your Hair. It's On The Thin Skin On The Tops Of Your Hand. And In The Morning, It's Still There.

The Peculiar Striations That Define Someone's Personality Are Too Numerous To Know, No Matter How Close The Observer. A Person We Think We Know Can Suddenly Become Someone Else When Previously Hidden Strands Of His Character Are Called To The Fore By Circumstance.

You Don't Need To Be Seeing Someone To Be In Love With Her. You Can Have Lost Touch With Her, She Can Have Hurt You, Even Inexplicably. If You Ever Felt That You Really Knew Her And That It Was What You Knew That You Loved, And If You Remember What It Was You Once Knew, Why Is It So Crazy To Retain That Love Still?

Hell Is The Special Pain That Dwells In That Loss Which You Yourself Have Caused

Perhaps People Ought To Feel With More Imagination.