brain book

Where does it rest in memory, this little misplaced piece of my history. Something only you and I know. Moments that should be filled with regret, which are instead infused with joy, moments that should be joyous coloured by regret. This flawed piece of history linking perfectly with my bad opinion of myself, enhancing it. It bobs to the surface of my life at odd moments. tormenting me. I wonder where it lodges in my brain and whether I should now remove it.