literary memoir class: mind can’t absorb, process,
regurgitate onto paper all of the wonders fast enough. I scribble
half-sentences, jump to new thought, draw lines, flip notebook sideways, jot in
margins, at the end can’t fathom everything already lost.
actually thought of choreography tonight, first time in
months, ecstatic, drawn in by my own movements. missed choreography being
taught in order to write mine down and not forget.
how many brilliances vanish because my pencil is too slow for
my mind?
thousands. millions. as many as there are cells in me.
memory is everything; yet I can’t do it justice.
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