Re: You Can’t Love In Reverse

In the assembly line of my mind
the workers have somehow managed
a coup. With eyes of mutiny they
select only the finest of memories
as their reflexive fingertips graze
the jumble of dids and didn’ts running
past them amidst the hum of my churning
synapses. As I watch this rebellion unfurl,
and the number of fond moments brought
back to my attention grows, I run amidst
the factory floor, scrambling and screaming
at them. “Remember that we are building for
the future! These old parts, however nice, are
outdated and the danger of exposing them to
consumers is too high!” My words echo about
as I stand in front of a younger one, the
scent of lavender I ripped from her hands
rolls on the floor between us. The
other workers turn to me, hands gripping
old sunrises, their eyes of mutiny suddenly
shedding tears. They can’t comprehend the
potential loss of life, the lawsuits
that would come flooding in if we
shipped out these old parts. They only know
the shape of smiles and the sound of laughter.
They only know what I didn’t back then; that
some things are worth grabbing onto and pulling
out of the rubble. I stand among them, no
longer angry. Simply pondering how to best word
my next company wide email.


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