A silent whimsical thought, floating here about and around,
Under and above the plane of consciousness,
Tickling that which is barely aware.
Swimming in the realm of memory,
Touching all those experiences,
Touching the good ones,
Touching the bad as well.
And slowly, slowly, if surfaces, a feeling, an emotion,
Gasp, and breathe, as it makes itself known to me.
The now is what matters,
This infintely long finite moment,
This is what counts.
The past is riddled with stories and happenings,