The heart remembers too
I was lounging in bed, trying to fall asleep with a massive headache, when my mind wandered off to the seaside. And I started thinking and musing about the fact that if you spend all day playing in the ocean, when you lie down at night your body remembers the smell of salt and the feel of the waves, and you rock yourself to sleep.
Or if you go to an amusement part and ride wicked sweet coasters for most of the day, your body continues to tilt and twist at night even though you're not really moving, and it takes you a day or so to get your center of gravity back.
Or if you walk around a Renaissance Festival for seven hours, you taste turkey and cider in your dreams and your hands remember being cold and swollen and your feet remember being cramped in their boots. (Maybe that one's just me.)
Or if someone knocks into you from behind, or drops a plate, or brakes abruptly on the road, you can suddenly smell gas and blood and rubber, and your chest hurts where your ribs were fractured from a life-saving seatbelt when the sports car hit your van at 110 mph.
Or if your dad calls you on the phone and asks you to sit down... even though it's about your mom and she's okay, just scared, and it wasn't really a stroke, you taste the dust of a softball field and smell dandelions and remember soft twilight and the sickening feeling of vertigo and nausea as your most precious possession was torn away.
Funny, isn't it, what the body remembers even though the mind has locked it away.