Dance with me in the mist of my memory. I call to each with hope.
Come to me and fill me with the same thrill, a moment in time brought back to me, a gift, precious treasure stored in the depths of me. I would give away each of those moments just to be able to relive them once. Just once.
She cried as I kissed her, so happy in the sweetness. I pulled her closer as the tears rolled over our lips, the purity of her tears cleansing my heart as I felt the warmth in her green eyes and kissed each drop that rolled down her cheek. The memory is there, so close, still hiding in the fog that keeps the moment safe in my heart, her green eyes just beyond my sight. They were green. The tears were so beautiful.
A white speck disappeared from sight as the baseball shot like a rocket blast over the barn roof well beyond the center field fence, a swing fueled by anger, so much that I don’t remember feeling the ball hit the wood bat in my hands. They never found that ball. Really all I remember is chasing all the balls hit over my head in the inning previous. How did that swing feel? I hold my hands in front of me, trying to summon the tingle from the bat’s vibration. I can almost feel it, but not quite. The satisfaction was soothing.
Finality as the heavy metal door swing shut in front of me. Rage filled me. Why am I here? I didn’t do anything to deserve this? Who is going to help me? I am so alone. The cell was cold. Even the dread of the cold solitude does not come to me completely. Thankfully. I want to remember, put it away, a part of my life conquered. Come to me so I can kill you once again.
You saw the world for the first time as your head pushed through into the light of the room. I was there. I saw you before anyone else. Your father. My daughter. I waited for you. But all that I can see through the fog is the top of your head as you crowned. Please, cruel fog, let me live that again.
How did she feel my arms while I kissed those green eyed tears? What came through me as my bat met that ball? How did my rage and sadness mix while that cell door closed? What happened to my heart as I greeted my daughter into the world?
Memory is both a blessing and a curse.