Remembering

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I hope I never forget what it was like to step out of black and white into technicolor light.

I hope I don’t forget what it was like to wander about in a London-worthy fog, my eyes dimmed by the perpetual dusk that dyed my waking hours a waking nightmare.

I want to remember being too weary to think the thought of rising from my tear-soaked couch to climb the stairs to my empty room.

I’ll admit to wishing I could forget the words.

But I want to remember the crackling embers of indignation that ignited an inferno in the depths of me hot enough to melt the iron the words had soldered to my soul.

I want to remember the rush of opening my wings wide after years in a cage and spreading them to the rising dawn.

I want to remember the rainbow after the flood, the olive branch my feet found for rest, the dazzle of the light glorifying miles of murky water.

I want to remember the words washing away in the water of your love.

I want to remember and never forget the first rain of color after the long draught of night.

For the valley makes the mountain all the taller for its depths.

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