Memory breathes claiming a life of its own it breathes to remind me how little I control pulling the past forward in the most pertinent way, to recollect all I did and didn’t say. Olfaction the oxygen memory inhales to walk down the lane of relevant tales, where I stayed in reality in pleasure and in pain, now breathing little reminders of progress in my brain. Memory breathes to pepper a mundane life, with moments of meaning between all the strife. Memory breathes in the middle of a regular day. It needs to breathe, it has no other way.