In the space of memory resides the fence we stand atop, teetering on the edge between hard ground and water. In that space we remember the moments that embrace us before we have a chance to embrace them. They catch us unaware and ask us the hard questions we’re not ready to answer.
Why do you feel?
I feel because my joy stitches the wounds of my pain, and salves them into healing. My joy mercilessly threads itself through the flesh of agony, reminding me that in time, the scars may not fully disappear, but they will no longer be noticeable to the world, nor to me. They will be seen only in quiet moments, when the sun is high, or the night stand lamp casts a light over the flesh of my ancient wound.
My joy spoons itself into the mouth of my sorrows, provisions to save it from starvation and death. I am intertwined inside myself, mixed in with everything I have ever seen or known. I am my happiness; I am my disappointments.
Another word is needed, one that melds this essence of me; a word that says, I am everything all at once, in this moment—in this parallel universe.
