I’m Not Allowed to Knock

Every so often I think back to different moments
Years, decades, seconds, weeks of time that passed
It’s never the time of day or the day of the week i’m thinking about
I only recall the month & year or “season” if I’m telling a story
Telling stories is my favorite
Then & now harmoniously colliding
It truly is unbelievable how the human brain can access long lost emotions
From places and with people that exist on the earth just not in my life

Some of them I miss
That’s the kind of word I say rather than, “with so much fucking passion”
Some of them I’ve forgotten
Which is what I say instead of saying, “no really, fuck that guy”

Every so often I take a trip down memory lane
I never recognize the houses on that street
The families sitting outside on their porches don’t recognize me either, and that’s perfectly fine
This isn’t their story, it can’t be because there were never involved
Until that one house
The one that broke the rules at painted their door teal like the mediterranean sea

That’s the memory

I slow down as to not miss a single detail
Examining the cracks in the paint that are hard to see from the street
Wear and tear from weathered years
The tiny rip in the screen on the window that displays their “family” room
I’m not allowed to knock
That’s a rule I made for myself to protect my ego
Without that rule I’d likely ring the doorbell, like a real jackass
I’d shake his hand as if I were a new neighbor
And I’d get down on my knee to say hello to their kids
Then I’d catch eyes with her, forcing the neurons to fire once more
Only to simply nod my head, tell her husband it was nice to see him
And walk my ass down their front porch steps towards my car
That I left running so I could decline a polite invitation to come inside
Maybe I’ll visit again someday
But for now, I’m happy knowing that she’ll never forget me either

I love Memory Lane
Because she lives there