It happens in those instances when it becomes foreign but haunting; those few seconds when we collide. I know it’s you and you know it’s me, but nothing left to be seen. Maybe I’m crazy, or maybe you were insane and that’s just why we crashed into each other before. But, here you are after all these years prodding even more for me to remember who I was.
I’ve read that visiting memory is better the second time because forewarned isn’t forearmed until you’ve experienced it at least once. I wonder if you were forewarned, or did you scar?
My derelict mind doesn’t recognize you quite as much as I do, so I return from time-to-time, mail a postcard and send some rhyme. I worry the words will dry up, shrivel into the fingertips to be cut off by the serial killer of imagination…gotta provide shelter…to save ’em all.
I used to wonder why you were back, but it wasn’t until I really looked at you, faced you, and dissected, your every meaning that I knew. Time skipped a beat, for a moment reset, and we collided where it met.
Wrestling The Hyperbole 
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