I fear of losing memories 

That in the constant hyperfocus on the present, the past 

will slip down the drain with the soapy 

dirt that I wash off every night in the shower. 

That with every passing breath, 

moments will fade into black and white movie scenes  

the characters just mimes—trying to escape 

from the clear cage that I unintentionally trapped them in, 

reacting the same thing over and over

until they become nothing to me. 

Their cause of death, attention deprivation.  

I worry not only about washing off the past, but also 

I fear of becoming absorbed in the future,
on far away dreams that are blurry yet so tantalizing,  

on delicious moments that are imagined but may never be lived.  

They are nothing but mirages in a thirsty deprived desert. 

I fear of becoming so focused on the definites, concise yeses and nos 

that I’ll forget the maybes, the memories.  

I fear I’ll forget pieces of my past 

And they’ll be like missing pieces of the puzzle—few, but 

you can never see the whole picture in their absence.  

I fear that when I try to save those fading memories,  

when I scoop up the water swirling down the drain, 

I’ll never be able to save every drop. 

I can never replace the exact dirt that I’ve chosen to wash away.