n. the feeling of returning home after an immersive trip only to find it fading rapidly from your awareness—to the extent you have to keep reminding yourself that it happened at all, even though it felt so vivid just days ago—which makes you wish you could smoothly cross-dissolve back into everyday life, or just hold the shutter open indefinitely and let one scene become superimposed on the next, so all your days would run together and you'd never have to call cut.
That you remember me
I've learned so much throughout my life
but there's much I don't recall.
I know it's in there somewhere
but it's hard to find it all.
It's not that I've forgotten you,
or the things I said I'd do;
I remember everything
but it's hidden somewhere I can't see
just beyond my view.
You see, there is a shadow where
there didn't used to be,
and sometimes when I look right there
it just confuses me.
I remember lovely flowers,
and songs I used to sing.
I remember springtime showers,
and rainbows they would bring.
I remember movies
and who would be the star,
but sometimes it's so hard for me
to know just who you are.
I love to watch a baseball game
or listen to the birds.
I love to tell you secrets.
I love to hear your words.
I love for you to sit with me;
perhaps you'll hold my hand
and tell me that you love me:
that I'll understand.
My mind has ways of taking me
where I don't want to go.
I know I know your name, you see;
just right now it's hard for me
to think of things I really know,
and to know what really is
and what may not be so.
Though I might forget you,
it's important that you see
just how much it means to me
that you remember me.