I can remember the smell of my Aunt’s house on a chilly autumn day. Her house smelled like baked apples and fabric softener (the good kind).
I can remember sledding as a child. The limitless laughter; the kind that hurts. The striking cold air rushing past my squinted eyes.
I can remember reading chapter books like “A Wrinkle In Time” in sun spots. Unhindered warmth enveloping your body. Goose bumps. A warm hug.
I can’t remember how it feels not to have Parkinson’s. . .
I can remember the impending anxiety of awaiting my turn to play the piano during recitals. Furrowed brow, cold sweat, physical anticipation.
I can remember how a cold Pepsi tasted on a scorching hot day at the local outdoor pool. Add a box of Lemonheads and you have BLISS.
I can’t remember how it feels to be rested. . .