If blessed are the forgetful, then what of those who remember?
I seem to never forget even the most painful details,
Every word, face, smell and feeling
Linger in my mind just waiting to come back.
The feelings never leave; they just wait for the right time to attack.
Maybe one day, I’ll go to sleep for just a bit,
And the memories will be things that I don’t know that I forget.
With pages torn from journals, and Montauk on my mind,
I’ll wander around for things that I don’t know I’m trying to find.