forgetting and remembering. becoming.

I pedal into the balmy, beastly sun at set. I feel both vintage and brand new. I feel the way I used to dream. I park my bike next to another and wonder just about everything I could wonder about it’s rider. A complete stranger I want to know without warning. I indulge my curiosity, like I always do, but especially when I am alone. I smell Italy and herbs. It’s rosemary beneath my feet, and the summers heat in the creases of my sweaty skin. It’s right here and now, but first, it was all those years before. I order bubbles at the bar and forget about all my names and identities, because sometimes forgetting is just another way of remembering. I live between these two worlds, unsure of which I would rather reside. But really I want both, and so I say it with bones in my back, because I’m no longer afraid to admit it. I want to be the woman I am now, all those years before. It’s deceiving and impossible and so I want it even more. But magic has long been my trick. I just can’t help myself.