Then, Now, and What's Between

I have forgotten how to write.
Once I could not stop but now I can hardly make myself believe that once I knew how to start to explain how it felt to be unable to stop writing about things I could not start.
And once I started I forgot how it felt to be unable to explain but now I'm back to where I started again. Once I felt pain. And once I forgot how to breathe. It rattled stuck in my chest, choked on fluttered feathers and I forgot how to swallow. I forgot. I remembered my hands. I cannot stop but remember my hands and think of my breath. I can only remember my breath. I have forgotten how to catch words before they slipped through the gaps in folded fingers. How to sing them through tiny thoughts you could not speak because you did not know how to start what you could not stop (events, life, thinking). Write because you cannot speak (then), speak because your words are careless and so careful you dare not write them down (now). I cannot remember how to write and catch words I cannot speak through the singing gaps in my teeth. I can only remember to breathe I can only remember my breath I can only think of my breath I can only think of my hands. Caught and rattling, breath battling flutter through and--

I'm okay. I'll always be okay.