Morning after

The next morning I didn't remember, but I could feel it, the way you feel the grit in your eye long after it washes away, the way you taste the dirt in your mouth after you spit it out. I had a long, hot bath, a walk in the park, a cinema trip, another drink. But there's no more forgetting what's forgotten. When the teeth of my fear closed on me, there was nothing left but to remember.