Taproot

Where does all the forgetting go? Is it buried here beneath our skin? Does it seep beneath the surface? Do roots extend, do they twine and surge, tendrils weaving through the heart, the lungs? Those tender breaths and fingertips. The slender limbs. Taproot, my root, deep anchoring roots, they grew straight through to the center of me. All the forgetting things that fill me from the outside in. Sight. Smell. Taste. Touch. Sound. Am I a bud blooming for you now?