Memory

When I walk through Times Square in the early morning,

neon lights dim and deserted --

Some days, I look up in exhilaration, dreaming towards the future, the possibilities clamoring with nervous anticipation.

Most days, however, I look around in heavy quietness, memories flooding my mind transporting me to other times and places. Sadness is always the legacy of the past; regrets are pains of the memory. After the storm passes and only wreckage remains, what else can one do but pick up the pieces and shoulder on?

Most days, I try to not remember.