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.