grasping.

i seem to remember things in chunks now. a smell. a look. a fabric. how hot it was outside. and so my mind spins to make order from the chaos of memories that i don't want to own. not in my history. not woven into the tapestry that cloaks my forever walls. but they remain. the building blocks of who i became. this soul. this embrace. this courage that i wish would spill forth even more. instead of seeping like watermelon juice onto the corners of a paisley platter.