There is a chance that the heart can function without the bliss of memories, a hard knock case of favourite forgetting. Conceiving a time and place that has no rabbit hole connection to the heart of old times. Seasons are pumping the valves with a substance of being, draped in a courageous lace. Postpartum depression revealing a different kind of love, mishapened like a sandwich bag. A lunch for one. A beat to keep the flow of you always ebbing forward.