Sometimes I remember differently.
I was thinking it might be the same for you.
Not the usual memories rolled across the fingertips and turned about. Not the ones worn down and through and out.
The heart-in-throat promise of opening doors. Arms, and falling against your neck. The sand-plane of your skin and distance closing. Thumb against lip and sugared veins. The shaking.
(I was thinking it might be the same for you)