You wouldn’t know I’ve played hide and seek in failing sunlight, emerging terrified and laughing just a few feet from my pursuer. You wouldn’t know I’ve lingered in doorways at dawn and then gone on to work full days infected by fatigue and sweet recollection. You wouldn’t know I’ve cried hearing my children’s pain, realizing nothing I do will spare them loss or cruelty.
You won’t see the dangerous or triumphant or stupid or wondrous or regretful in me, but those memories sometimes feel more vivid than faces in front of me.
Every mind houses a similar store, and every instant stands against the past as better, worse… or more of the same. I hide the scenes still rolling in me and feign ignorance when I see recollection overwhelm others.
We’re civil and aloof, but pretending doesn’t hold the past back. I should be embarrassed, but—if only for an hour or a few minutes—I’d like to say what I’ve seen and let all my memories out.