Gone

Two sizes too big, swamped. Enveloped.
A smell like coming home after a long holiday.
Senses overcome as memories flood in, bombarding, demanding to be recognised.
Hands moving tentatively, stroking the softness of the wool,
Drifting down in to the caverns below.
Fingers clutch at a screwed up souvenier of times gone wrong,
Twisting the scrap round until nothing remains but a fragment of yesterday, at the same time creating your own artifacts.
You shrug off the past, and fold it neatly away, until the next time you need reminding.