conversations bygone, issues that remain the same.

[evasearchin]

I ask your memory to listen to my words,
and I seek your memory for the replies.
it isn't hard, we live in such times,
there's no need to recall,
a couple of clicks,
and records appear of conversations bygone.

It may be a few years old now,
but I've never seen a record so damning,
my resistance to change,
is documented, overpowering.
because I could have written those words today,
that is what's so jarring.
how can the years go on,
and time march on,
and yet I remain, myself,
lamenting the same pains.

your words, are still there too,
and they don't reassure or work
like they perhaps used to.
you were woefully unprepared for what I had to say,
and after some years of professional therapy,
this fact becomes clear to see.
those words don't contain what I need.
I don't know what I need.
your awkwardness and avoidance
over the more graphic nature of my issues,
though well-meaning, becomes apparent,
standing here, this side of time,
calmly reading this account of my life.

god I feel ill.
I should have been asleep hours ago.
To edit later,
when I'm awake to know what the hell I mean.

ETA; I'm never going to edit this, I still don't know what I mean.