Many times

I wonder. Quite a fair deal about things.
I am happy when I can forget.
Because what I have forgotten, I do not suffer from.
The suffering of remembering almost everything.

It is never the way one remembers though.
That is obvious to anyone that do remember.
Therefore the peace in not remembering too much.
I still remember the daily walks to day care.
When I was three.

The midday sleep, so that the personnel could rest.
I barely ever slept. I was the troublesome one.
I still remember the nice woman who kept me company.
When the other kids slept.

I still remember your tear on the cheek in Portugal.
High as a kite. Happy as a kid. Sweating like an animal.
You saw me. I could see it. It was unusual.
People usually do not see. At all.
Blinded by memories.
Not even their own.
Just dead intellect.

I still remember the sensation of your hand.
In the middle of the night.
Hours and hours of staring.
Internal communication.
Life exchanged.

I still remember the eternity in the elevator.
What was no more than thirty seconds.
But due to the times reminded..
Days. Months. Passive.
Like background music.
Mental medication.
Happiness arranged.

I still remember your voice during lessons.
When I attended elementary school.
All those years ago.
The taste of colours.
Somewhere in there.

I still remember the books I read.
During night when I was in school.
I could not sleep. Night is calmer.
The artifice sleeps. Its components.
Read, saw, dreamed.

I still remember the hours on the bus.
The hope and longing.
The everlasting wish.
That you would be there.
Just a glimpse.

I remember your presence.
Your intentional imposition.
But not by your ego though.
The sensation of your soul.
Its fragrance within my aura.

I see it in image.
When I think it.
All as I saw it.
Hazy. Unclear.
Like a fading dream.

But still there.
Not many moments in my life.
I cannot remind myself of.
I see my entire timeline.
Inside my mind.

Portions missing.
Here and there.
Health care mostly.
Other by similarity.
The unique stands out.

I still remember the sound.
Of my cats.
A touching colour.
Tasting as it sounds.
Everpresent in animation.

The ego is a living memory.