the things we forget, the things we let go. it isn’t all little details. it’s gobs of information strewn away, squirreled and hidden.

it won’t come back to haunt us.
maybe.

then again, then again, in the middle of the night, on a bender, or in the throes, they barge through, trample all over us, grab us by the throat, shove us against a wall, lift us right off our feet.

we will not be forgotten. we will not be ignored. we are merely biding our time for moments like these.

for moments like these.