My Memory

I have a memory like bullets on a Sunday morning

I can't get dressed

My memory is ill timed and relentless

Every painful touch of that knit scarf reminds me of how often my ring used to get tangled in it
Every dress is not clothing but a date
A conversation
Holding my hand
Reminds me that I knew what it was like to feel safe
Even for a moment before I threw my dreams away
I am haunted my the feels of my fabric

I told myself that love and security are not the same thing
But I can't for the life of me remember why I believed one to be better

I can't find anything in my life that I want more than what I gave up
And for that I have all my options
And can't for the life of me manage to do anything

My memory is shards of class on the highway
It is chaos and broken and in a million pieces yet they are still all there
Waiting for ill timing to cut me
They are the fragmented voice in my head
They are the reminder that I now know it is like to feel

... Regret