I notice this memory,
and it makes me feel pain.
I notice this thought,
and it makes me feel shame.
Emotions.
Guilty, stilty, silty.
A lack of spirit,
rapidly changing,
and stumbling wilting.
Memory, beggary, reverie.
Yet I can hear it,
and I see it arranging,
making me feel every
pang of ruthless regret,
pouring from my head.
Anxiety.
Noticing the memory doesn’t help
you heal the mistake,
but you can see it
for what it is.
And take a breath.
