I don’t remember everything, unfortunately.
When anxiety strikes, remembering isn’t exactly
a priority, and with the past few months
of low rumble tension, through meals, hot weather,
and waiting in train stations, I forget some of the things you’ve said.

And so I keep a transcript. Your words,
uttered and whispered and spoken,
are put to paper in one block of ink,
bold and unbroken, so when I do forget,
and memory slips a disc of data,
which is quite often the case,
I can file through the syllables
and pry apart the paragraphs
to hear your lovely words again,
butter soft and sweet,
your words that could soothe a hurricane
to sleep.

5 thoughts on “Transcript

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