and these memories come to me like jolts of electricity surging
through those telephone wires that are hanging on your street.
It seems I’m always writing about my memories, it’s just that they
come to me and I never want to let go, just like I never want to
let go of your hand. I keep them as locked up tight as they will allow.
But things are different now, I see the real colors shining through.
I'm learning to let go,
not of our memories,
but your hand.
