The fingers move back and forth like the tic toc of an old clock. Tic. Toc. Tic. Toc. And I float back into a world of memories that peel away like the petals of a flower that never ends. One after the other, the forgotten rooms and smells come back. I walk hard wood floors of apartments I haven’t been in in years. Girls and women swim by. A garage of Truth or Dare is suddenly with me and then on to the next thing. And then I see my wife that first time we laid under the cold windows of the 157th Street place. Her skin shimmers with softness before me and I can feel the warmth of her there. The muscle in my chest becomes a softened heart and tears come in sheets of good. I don’t know why — except that I am grateful for her.
What is this place I am in that lives inside but I do not know?
