a sharp thing lives for many years at october's end. a sharp thing asks for quiet about the house. no mood for tricks, the trick of life being enough to manage. sharp especially should memory fall like a weight on a friday as the day itself did. dulled now by age and time and youth from bitter to bitter-sweet watching one grow is kin to slow forgetting. forgetting the pain of one forgets the joy of another. growing up, one grows away. these things converse correlatively. ~*~*~*~ The body always remembers the traumas of the heart. Whether virtual or real, the body remembers.