354. A Photographic Memory

A Photographic Memory,

I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone,

not even my worst enemy,

because with a photographic memory, 

my own worst enemy

is me. 

Remembering the tragedy,

of memories filled with regret.

And all I can think about is, 

When will my Sun finally set?

When will I join those memories,

the ones I can never forget?

Finding anything to numb the pain,

but that was a mistake.

The pain doesn’t just go away.

It catches up one day,

and you’ll regret making it wait,

just like I do every day.

I remember the memories, 

Even when I try to forget, 

it never worked the way I wanted it to, but that was okay.

Though, my memories made a bet, 

winning the lottery, because they would bet against me,

which they always do.

In another life, I wouldn’t remember this.

Or maybe I’d remember myself

as an emotional well, emotionally unwell, 

willing to sell my soul to darkest depths of hell, 

to simply find myself again,

 and to live before the living ends.

I don’t want it to end,

though I might ask myself,

maybe sometime in the next life,

but I really want to know now,

so here it goes,

Is it really worth the fight? 

If not, what then?

How could I ever know,

How could I,

when those memories 

were no longer my own,

when they were no longer 

in living sight,

or in living memory,

How important could they be,

if those memories did not belong to me? 

They belonged to someone, 

so perhaps they were important in the end,

because someone made those memories happen,

And I held the key

to their photographic memory.