Unwritten

How do memories form?
And how does it remember to remind you?

Where do memories go when they are forgotten?

How do you explain the times you've push and you've shoved.
But only to find yourself not very far from where you've started.

Maybe my words often come out scribed using invisible ink, in the space between.
The writing visible only after you turn.

I latch onto these things, precious and transitory.

Like twilight; bordering between light and dark; casting the longest of shadows.