Still a little left

Still a little bit of your taste in my mouth
Still a little bit of you laced with my doubt
Still a little hard to say what's going on
(Thank you, Damien)

Memories are so elusive. The more I try to remeber something, the further it drifts away. When I am driving in my car, with blurred trees and yellow-barren fields flitting by, that is when they come to me. A forgotten dream, a lost moment, and uncharted thought. They float on the breezes of remembrance and forget. Try to grasp it, and you will burst the iridescent surface of the memory, and it is gone. Only rainbow residue is left on the fingertips of my mind.

I love life. (Sometimes a little too much). I play to learn. It is only life. Why is fun so...enjoyable? If pleasure feels so right, then how can it be wrong -- (at times) -- I want to indulge. Chocolate. Kisses. Melting heat gooey sweet residue lurking between rough tongue buds. (I love hersheys)

Am I a creature of feeling? A creature unlike any other (let me write the rules). If feelings dominate me (I am not ready to submit, not yet) then will my mind atrophy, soaking seeping weeping in nigrescent whims, if I allow it?

(I know) I will exercise more.