All I can remember is my life hasn’t started.

The longing past and nostalgia mean the world to me; though it’s sad and unfulfilling to know that some of my greatest memories have been sacrificed.

Herds of sheep burned in the field for gods without appetites.

A rotisseried recollection of a charred chronology.

I am lucky to have friends who remember things which I’ve forgotten; I am forever grateful that stories still live on through  them, whether I recall or continue to draw blanks.

When glimpses arise in mine eyes, I hold onto them as tightly as possible.

I want so badly to be back in those moments.

Especially when I dream.

To crawl out of this world of wake.

Pull me by my legs deep into the fabric of all that we are.

Perhaps I’m damaged, or perhaps I’m optimistic, but either way, this white walled limbo is not an acceptable place to settle down.

I miss being happy with my friends.

But I always hope with a full heart.

And today, as I write this, I hope: to foster, to focus, and to cherish my retention of the present moment, and those to come.

I hope that memories from a childhood long ago will find a way to endure time that cracks cement culverts, built to redirect the flooding waters into my lake of retrospection; whether it be conscious or not.

The time(s) I had and the friends whom I grew up with, are a significant part of the shape I’ve become.

I will always love them, and dream about their beauty.

A multi-hinged snowflake of an interpersonal mold.

 

-Geoffrey Titus