life’s too short to spend it hating and complaining and regretting. too bad we easily forget. we always forget about its brevity. perhaps we do it intentionally, a natural dealing mechanism. but then someone or something often comes along, jolts our innards and conscience and innate impulses, and forces the memory of mortality upon us.
do you hear it? the drums and trumpets that precipitate impending emptiness, the truest and purest of vacuums where no sound wave doth travel. do you feel it? the synapses of the brain that permit the one last field trip down memory lane. and do you smell it? the freshly minted top notes of the preliminary sweet rotting scent of flesh rounded out by the deep and steady base notes of sorrowful salty goodbyes.
alas we remember! and alas we forget, again—as we let it recede into the far forgotten tomes of collective mortal memory.