I find myself, in the very early hours of the day, in my pre-coffee haze, sitting in the re-memory chair.
My house is lit with yellows, not the bright LED lights of the present: instead, I have chosen incandescent bulbs.
It is not so difficult sitting in re-memory with the kind, warm yellow bulbs of the past.
I am yanked back to a day of confusion.
No! I will not go back.
If my life was a book, a movie, a comedy, or drama, this day would be a day that would read well in the total story.
My life instead is a compilation of moments strung together haphazardly, or randomly, or without my approval, bringing me to this yellow, un-caffeinated moment in time.
I see you, sir, from my chair of re-memory.
I see you and your love.
I see your horrid, unexplained death at the hands of an unknown pathogen.
I was disallowed seeing you then. It is only in this odd moment that I am hurled back to watch.
The hospital staff did not let your friends visit.
I was no longer your friend.
I was the pariah.
I would have been there. I would have suffered your death.
I mourn you still.
Bye, sir.
I wanted to be there for you.
It was un-allowed.
I, in my re-memory chair, see you still, in the prelit dawn.
