Kognito

Double Yellow Line In the twilight there is an aroma, the smell of silence, the odor of darkness. The night scent, as unique as it is routine. Only sensed in the dimness, the same everywhere. A bouquet known only when the sun isn't looking. Bringing with it recollections of late night rendezvous', and sorrow, and lonely walks in empty streets.

i. i'm sitting in a doctor's office, and he wants to see my past and present connected by a trail of bread crumbs - the story of my life as a linear narrative. but i can't reach back and pull forth an unbroken thread that justifies my present - i can't pick it all apart and reassemble it as it was. yet he demands proof, and i'll give it to him. i'll give it to him. for the future, i'll do anything (it's beyond simple longing, it's beyond hope - it's the only thing that makes the next breath worth taking). so i make my truth fit into his notebook, i cut and paste the moments until they fit together and show a picture of my past th