I wish I had a reminder that wasn't the lack of a reminder.
And when I dwell on it, I can hear the guilt dripping from the shower-head, hard-water stained metal - slowly gathering to a pool of stagnant water. When I wake up - if I wake up again, I'll turn the shower on again. And washing it all away again. And i'm far too proud of myself to ever admit that I didn't really wish it had all gathered this way. I used to hear phrases meant to enlighten and reinforce; and now they're meaningless hope is almost all I have to use to cope with the reality I can't understand.
      I'll open a fortune cookie just because I know it will say something positive. Whether or not it's true won't matter, because it will seem to apply. Somehow it will all feel the same if I'm able to contain the curiosity, just a matter of dreams that make me bead with sweat and wake up angry and just a little confused, though I'll quickly forget it. Luckily I seem to wash this sheen away, and a part of myself nestled into what I don't want to wonder... And I can't remember enough to wonder, really, anyway.