For the Life of Me, I Cannot Remember

A year gone to the past. A year of ups and downs and now I am sitting here exactly where I was. I feel as if I have time traveled, as if sitting on a couch a year ago I flashed forward, moving my body faster than light to end up here. But I haven't. Things happened. Things I can't deny. Friends fell, family fell, lovers fell. It seems the whole damn world fell. And I am once again trying to pick up the pieces of someone else's life. Once again I am quoting myself, thinking how it is all rather ironic. Funny, if you will. Funny I once thought myself cured. Funny I once thought myself diagnosed properly. Funny I once thought myself sick. Funny how I said I wouldn't do it again. And at the end of it all, I am still sitting here, writing to a person who doesn't exist, in a format no one will ever see. I am remembering the tree with the trapped woman, the double sided arrow, the butterflies, the fear, the songs of my past. But I can't remember the most important things. The things that matter. I can't remember how I got out of bed that one day. I can't remember how I resisted that one time. I can't remember how I once composed poetry as easily as breathing. I can't remember why I fell for her, or how I picked myself up afterwards. I can't remember every lie I told to cover it up, or how I walked through those halls without anyone caring. I can't remember how to disappear, or how to sleep for eighteen hours straight. I can't remember how to talk to people about my problems, or how to seek help, or how to know when I need it. I can't remember what it was about talking that was so great anyways. I can't remember why it all matters.