Memory

My memories travel in fragments. Beginnings to a storm. Casements of sliced thought. Ends of stories, pieced for a grin, to provoke in me a response. A smile, a fist, a tear.

My memories cloud together, forming droplets over my thoughts. When I least suspect, when quiet calms with its quake, they shout in their fury. They will dominate with their whisper.

My memories stir, aftershocks to my fingertips, until my lasting breath. With my soul elsewhere, when my heart ceases to grow, will all of my thoughts scatter to oblivion?

Desires are secondary to the fate of my cased thoughts. I can only pray for the tales of my life to trickle to the memories of others. By reaching out with a delicate hand, I will live forever in the minds of those I love.

Those are the memories that matter.