A slip of the mind
My own stupid memories keep popping up unwanted like a jack in the box. For a second, I still gaze at them starry-eyed, and smile at a jest, a clumsy gesture, a cup of coffee shared. Then the second is gone, and I condemn myself for longing for a treat that I will never be able to taste again. It is all gone. It won't come back. Bread and water will have to suffice. And my mind should be busy with other occupations, working frantically on palpable new plots based on palpable new facts, that will eventually become remembrances that will not make me cringe.
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