Strange Seasons…
I’ve got blind spots in my past. Months I can hardly remember being me. Cinema memories faded blurrier than a forgettable movie. The sad sequels and counterculture fuzz of my chemically induced days. Lost histories. Strange seasons.
Sometimes they come back. Snippets of experience, the hidden foundations of who I was, who I’ve become. A hint of the skies overhead, the color of autumnal leaves falling from trees, the rough and tumble manners of early twenty-somethings groping through their vague half-decade. Empathy music and swirly heads, waking lives and grinding teeth, restless nights and the rising sun…
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