Thought Tapestries

What’s a secret skill or ability you have or wish you had?

Most dream of soaring through the sky on wings of light,
or piercing walls with x-ray sight,
of bending spoons or stopping time with just a thought—
but me? I want a quieter gift, one almost never sought.

I want to stand inside a doorway,
hand still on the knob,
and feel the thread of purpose snap back into place—
no blank stare, no “Why am I here?”
no slow defeat across my face.

I want to open the refrigerator door
and have the cold air whisper back the truth:
you came for the mustard, not for existential proof.

Just once, I’d like the kitchen light to click on
and my brain to say, without delay:
“Laundry. You were getting the laundry.”
Instead of wandering like a ghost in my own play.

No need for laser eyes or super speed—
give me the modest, humble power
to remember the small intentions
that vanish the moment I turn a corner.

Let me keep the fragile chain of thought intact,
so I don’t stand foolish in the pantry,
holding a jar of pickles,
wondering if this was the quest
or just another plot twist
in the daily comedy of a distracted mind.

That’s the secret skill I crave:
the gentle art of not forgetting
what I was doing
the second I decided to do it.

Call it “Doorway Recall.”
Call it “Fridge Memory.”
I’d trade a dozen flights around the world
for one clear trip from couch to closet
without losing the plot halfway there.

If superheroes ever audition for new powers,
sign me up for the forgetful ones—
the ones who just want to finish a task
without becoming the punchline
of their own short-term memory.