it's like a ghost that haunts. me

frequently, I don't choose what to write about, the events choose me. I don't know it is sounds weird but they refuse to be ignored. So I have no control, I sit down and clatter away at the keyboard. In times like these, the results are stilted, awkward. But they still demand the right of existence. I'm sorry.

I'm in the library

I heard a phone ring just now. The tune. a shock of recognition. faint recognition, suprised recognition, and the heart contract. follow a sudden depression.

While me, I'm left much confused.
Did my heart and mind recollect something I cannot consciously remember. The tune- I know it. It used to play for. me or. for someone else for me, I don't know. It
was a slow, almost mournful tune. That tune played for me, once upon a time. Why., I cannot remember. I was a child when it would play.
I have a faint memory of a door in our second, or, third, home. Or is my consciousness trying to piece images together. Is it the voice of an ancient clock, a door's song, a tune from? from? From whence would it sound. Did it play in my grandmother's neglected gray-memory house. That melody was a werkglocken. I think.
So slow, so pensive. Like
a dead woman's last winding-down babble, coming through in a dream, recounting long forgotten memories. of a white washed window seat above a green garden companioned by companionably companionable books.

Is it associated with sad memories? Why was my reaction so. perturbed? The struggle to remember is fading.
Why can't I remember?