Decades

Because summer is when now scrapes itself down to skin; because the late light allows you perceive, through the moment's membrane, the pumping of what was and what might have been; because the heat pins me, blanches my will-

I'm looking back through past blog entries.

I was a good writer.  I am not as adept, now.  I was a quick thinker.  I'm slower, now.  But I was also hungrier, and lonelier, and poorly housebroken.  I'm not sure who I'd rather be.

Forgetting is how we keep on.