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.