Rhino memories stick with Us, each like an amulet, with associated connotations and scents. Each memory bead is a full-circle story unto itself, filled with individual meaning. Some may shine or glitter more than others, but each is a part of the collection We each hold dear. Yea, cling to, defining Us.
Speaking of which, isn’t it odd how We hold onto memories that stink? Why is that?
Your Inner Rhino 
body{font-family: Geneva,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;font-size:9pt;background-color: #ffffff;color: black;}Why is that? I can only quite myself from “The New American Poetry and Me” wherein I note the protagonist does not “prowl restlessly the street-threaded night beads of stinking sound.” Yet visited or not, they are there.
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I’m so happy you are a YIR Reader!
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Because even stinky memories give depth to the rich melange that is life, silly R. Or, to put it another way, without spacers, jewels are just piles of glitter.
P.S. Love the Rhino-bling.
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What a sensible answer. Small wonder it didn’t occur to Us.
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