The rain dropped a memory today.
Wet and clear, it relieved me of my doubts
and, without knowing,
allowed me to see the spaces in-between my sorrow
with more accuracy.
It was unexpected, but not without gratitude,
as I had already begun to leave some,
(Admittedly only a small amount:
as time ripples expectations and circumstances),
of my heart behind in the past
finding it not so much unbearable,
as irrelevant and not needed any more.
I could make a simile here, explaining that it was
‘like a…’, ‘as if it were a…’ but that would be trite
and that is the one thing that memory is not.
Which didn’t so much surprise me, as disappoint.
For, isn’t Memory meant to increase expectation?
relive the devastation of event and,
justify occurrence without the need of evidence?
As created myth, it is legendary in falsehood
(oral tradition being a case in point),
having no bearing on anyone, save me; yet
I feel that I am beholden to others.
It is their understanding of events
that drive my own, casting hooks of doubt
into the waters of my mind, muddying up
my understanding and destroying my point of view,
until there is – essentially –
no more than an echo of reality
within the black waters of my mind.