Later

 Nascent and true, thrust into love's mire -- abandoned to ferment in a midden pile of the unusable. Find me a place to store what I cannot feel unfettered. Perhaps in the folds of sulci or the chambers of the heart. Create a memory of the future, a time untrue but in the mind -- anamnesis of this. You do the same. And maybe then, in vacant promised days, we'll find use for what we were forced to forget.