Everything is painted with memory. How can I forget?
I will wait for time to wash my world, wait for a return to the plain sense of things. Time will dull some colors, brighten others. I will overlay new memories to gloss over the old, and a bed or a couch will no longer shout stories. I will not have to cover my ears to close out their clamor. I will go on, and on. Memory will soften in the sea and drift away on the tide, and it will not matter.