Some things stick
My blind mind’s eye pretty effectively neuters my memory. Because I can’t recall the image of a situation, I often can’t recall it at all. Forgetting where I put things is the rule, not the exception, for me.
Cruel joke of the gods, that. Give a man who’s greatest fear is loss a memory that deprecates rapidly. Moments come and go. Memories mostly go. It is the way of things, and there isn’t a great deal I can do about it. So I bear it.
Some things stick, though.
A moment with a sufficient degree of emotional resonance will stick with me, even if I remain unable to recall the image of it in my head.
Moments like the splintering of an innocent heart. Theirs, or mine.
Moments like the ignition of passion. Spark striking flame, a mushroom fireball.
Moments like those of greatest gain. And of greatest loss.
My mind is like a sieve, selecting if not the particularly good or bad, but the significant of all kinds. Mostly, though, the sand of time streams through. Always a blessing and a curse.
