There is a pleasant stillness
Memories hold and an
Unkindness in rewinding.
The components of a moment
Either crystallize or fade
And we do not have a say.

When I dropped the ring
Into her hand, most is lost.
But I remember
How she said my name,
Intensity, painted in a
Grin, smothering contentment,
And the cluttered stillness.
Her atelier.

All of my words are gone
Aside from the broad arc.
Hers too, beyond fragments.
And so it is precious
What my mind has chosen to
Freeze.

Harenae.
Grin.
Smother.
Clutter.

All of my memories
Flawed and incomplete.
Pastiched life, bite-sized.
Beautiful and inscrutable.

Seneschal.
Clutching book.
Nerves.
Do not let down.

Obelisk's faces.
Crowded quiet.
Singed flesh.
Kill.

And on, rank and file
Snippets of reality,
Filtered through my own
Conceits.
Artistry of my mind,
Entombed in thought forever.

How brutal then to strum the
Threads of time and go
Back, to learn and refine
Memory. How cold, would I
Crack open a memory to
Pluck some possible pearl.
Smash the stained glass
For hope of clarity.

Is it worth the
Perfection of records.
What treasure do I hope to
Unearth that my mind
Chose to discard.
Relive those moments,
Those joys and sorrows,
And lose myself in that
Looping diminishing
Obsessing crumbling
Labyrinthine mausoleum.

Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Glacian, in the year 868 AF.