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.