Seeing through
Memory is the touch of the wax on the seal of the envelope. It’s his name, her image, their smell.
Memory is weak, like water. It is strong, like waves.
Memory without touch fades. As scent, it invades.
Memory is a punch in the chest. It will unravel you. It can shore you up and restore you.
Memory is a soft and gentle breath, like oxygen.
It is nothing, it has substance. It is everything. It is you.
What I recall is you.
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