Trying to Fit my Therapist's Narrative, I Guess

"well we had it worse so" and that means "I love you"

and "you cried and cried and we had no home" (but we did)

and that means "I love you" and "we thought we would die" and

that means "I love you" and "my father, my father my father, my mother, my brother, my god it was awful"

and that means "I love you," I know. 

I know. 

I remember jewelry in a trailer in a dessert in a sea of sage. That's what I remember.

But I remember what you remember, for you have told me over and ever. I remember tears and shotguns and skid row and being a little boy with no glasses, I remember, I remember how awful I was as a newborn who made this starbaby so angry will the muscle-testing tell, will none of the mediums among us answer? I remember. I remember a bassinet full of maggots and I also remember everyone misremembering who got earplugs when and why and I have no sense of what happened when, though I remember it all, you see. 

I remember. 

"I remember" means "I love you," little worries caught in the cup of big trauma, like a rainbarrel for dry times ahead, should life just so happen to swerve well. I will still remember what you remember with you. 

I will.