The Struggle of My Mind

Strange, isn’t it?

When asked what I had for lunch,

or what you told me last night

after I asked about your day,

or what day that you told me

to keep open next week, I

struggle

to remember.

Just short-term?

No, the problem runs deeper.

I used to recall without hesitation

the endearing name you called me

long ago when I asked you to spend

your life with me, but now I

fumble

to remember.

But why is it

that I can recount with the speed

of a default setting on a computer

an insult or dirty deed that was

aimed at me long ago or yesterday?

No matter how blatant or how

subtle,

I remember.

Strange, isn’t it?

A friend called my checkered memory

the “old letter to the editor” syndrome:

The squeaky wheel gets the grease.

We do not download the attaboys

or kindnesses, but fixate on the

cudgel

to remember.

Frustrating, isn’t it?

Why can’t I just replace any of the

bad recollections with pleasant ones?

Why is the dark side barking at the

door of my mind, wanting to go out?

Why does my light side have to be so

humble

to remember?