context

I have this relationship with my memory that I shall describe as neither typical nor unique for lack of context
but lets say that I struggle daily to walk a linear path that many people seem to take for granted
much like the useless trivia that crowds my mind
memories exist almost as if in the present
indeed, they feel like they are with me, but continuously newly defined by my tactile surroundings, leveled by new experiences

I mean, naturally, I can tell the difference
I know the now

I can feel time by the weight of my clothing and the way my couch feels as I sit, I can feel the hand I hold, or the hand I don't
but, sometimes, some small part of me is so swept by the calling of what I might be watching
say
on the silver screen or by the write piece of music
that the presence of these other moments becomes all the more vivid then the very skin that binds me
I loose my grounding and my place
and memories become more instistant than my current surroundings
sometimes, like the feeling of my grandmother cooking for me, these memories are weightless and beautiful and a welcome respite from the pressures of daily life
and when I leave that old moment I cab respect it's place in time
but sometimes, the distance between past and present imposes itself so violently that a momentary jaunt into these past terrains only serves to leave me disoriented and displaced
wanting to pick up the phone and call a number long disconnected