dried dirt

A memory is only a buried treasure. It lies deep within the mind. A suppressed memory is one that lies behind a hidden door deep within a cold dark cellar. A memory is the past that awaits trial and awakening curious as it is.

And today, I realise this: a memory is only a hidden conscious. Once it is revealed, the sense of longing resurfaces. You know what I miss?

I miss having a man in the house. The man of authority. The man who was witty and funny. The man who teased my mom comfortably and knew he could get away easily. The man who was a doting parent. The man who watched Wimbledon with me. More than that, the man who made me pin my heart on my sleeve. Once upon a time ago.