Forgive me.
Memories are a wound &
I must carry them.
Nostalgia lies close to my skeleton bones,
and yet my past is clouded
like a mirror with its shine worn off.
Whenever I try to recall the small details of you,
it’s like gazing at a blurry photograph taken
many years ago
of someone I once loved.
& remembering your voice,
though I could listen to it the rest of my days,
is like hearing a phonograph underwater.
The way it falters in my mind
as though you have a stammer,
though I know you never stuttered.
It’s my mind that creates the gaps.
Memories are a wound &
I must carry them.
As I carry them, the past becomes less certain
and I wonder if my memories are true
or perhaps just something I wrote down
in a book.
Storytellers don’t always make the most reliable narrators,
but even through the gauzy haze,
our memories glimmer with a whispering beauty.
Isabelle Palerma 
Poetess,
The days have been parched, dull, and void of colors without your words. The minutes have passed silently without the joy of your gifts to these tired eyes. Sincerely, it is a joy to see you post. You have been missed.
Blessed be and blessed night.
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“Storytellers don’t always make the most reliable narrators,but even through the gauzy haze,our memories glimmer with a whispering beauty”
Beautiful.
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Thank you so much. I appreciate it.
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I love this so much. It beautifully describes how memories sometimes become less about actuality and more about how we felt in the moment… less sharp edges and more gauzy impressions. Love your words, my friend!
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Thank you so much! It’s so good to hear from you. I think sometimes, the less sharp memories can actually be quite beautiful in their own way.
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