Brain Slides

I can't turn off the memories.

I want to, sort of. I mean, they hurt a little. Not hurt, per se. Ache maybe. Pulsate? Throb? The way a bruise you got the right way hurts? Yeah? Get that? Of course you do.

You're you.

asterisk-smile-asterisk

Much of the time I want to erase them. But I can't. And I wouldn't. And that means the memories are good. Very good. Durable and vivid. Patina. Properly scuffed. Easily recalled. A little too, but that's okay.

Random clicks.

It doesn't mean something about now, or about whenever. It just means that when, back when... Then. They were good. Forged and minted, enjoyed, and polished with just the right amount of lovely.

Like how a flower or a caribou coffee or the color red is burned into the brain. Just good. A healthy purchase. Good grip.

Smiling.

Existence is privilege.