A sunny day,
A simple breakfast. It's there--
the memory smiling at me from the charred toast.
I stop the car,
raise my eyes. It's there--
the memory appearing, hanging on to me, like my handbag.
I walk past the familiar hedges
of careless landscaping. It's there--
the memory recurring, like someone repeating a tired tale.
Why the tenacity,
why not disappear,
like other memories, content with oblivion.
It has something to tell me.
I know it has,
but what's the message?
Such a vague figure, uncertain shape,
like a ghost, wandering and haunting.
I know it will not go away until I get the message.
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