with waking every morning comes memory-

lifetimes unlived, fragments of what was and hints of what may be.

i pass quietly through daily monotony and rituals, routines while the machine in my head sorts through markers and images, images... sound clips and smells and tries to untangle the synesthesia.

and during the day a smell taste glimpse fragment of a conversation ten feet away somehow links to one of those things.

and at night after tidying and dishes the hand moves and i ask questions and try to gather answers make connections or illustrations.

sometimes it works out.

others it still doesn't make sense and i curse lazily and throw implements down.

i lose time staring at the patterns in the old linoleum kitchen floor.

and breathing deep i wander off for more dreams...