Isn’t memory a weird, strange thing? It adorns multiple guises like an actor: sometimes it is a razor, sometimes it is smoke, sometimes it is a blank white sheet, and sometimes it is graffiti.
Sometimes you forget names and places you knew so well, yet…
…every time you hear the mention of a place, you remember your first crush
…every time you hear or speak of a hospital, you remember your little sister was born there be it twenty-five years ago
…every time you talk of school you remember a girl you’d rather forget
…every time you yearn for the road, you remember Wander-thirst, poem that beckons from high school
And East and West the Wander-Thirst that will not let me be;
It works in me like madness, dear, to bid me say goodbye,
For the seas call, and the stars call, and oh! The call of the sky!
Now the darn ol’ memory has gone wandering off again…