He remembers....

He could remember grass. Emerald green and warm by the sun's gentle caress. He could see it in his minds eye, feel it, but the smell escaped him, floating just out of reach. Yet his memory senses quested to bring it back, knowing it was a pleasent thing, yet still unable to grasp it. He grieved for the loss, even of such a small thing. because it was a good thing and good things were so few now. So very few.
Sometimes, beside him on the grass was a beautiful woman with hair of spun gold and eyes that made the grass look grey. But who she was or why she smiled such a beauitful smile at him, he did not know. He suspected, but he did not know.
Other things he remembered also. Faces, voices. All so very vauge. There were other places too. The unforgiving sands of an endless desert, the hard red clay of some unknown landscape, and cities. Endless and ever changing. All forboding and full of mystery. Mysteries he had no desire to solve. Because he remembered pain. He was unsure if it was physical or emotional pain, but it seemed pain was a constant. And though some of those memories were more recent and seemingly more important, nothing in his mind's eye was a substansial as simple grass. Simple, emerald green grass with a smell that was surely wonderful, if only ehe could remember it.
He sat up with a start. The night had grown cold around him, with only his threadbare leather coat for protection from the elements. He was on a bench, somewhere within the park the people around it called the jungle. He had no idea why they called it that. They just did.
He had not been sleeping. He did not sleep, not really. He did lie in bed at night. He did close his eyes for approximatly seven hours a night. But he did not sleep. He though of grass.
He stood up, intending to walk somewhere in the general direction of his house, but upon seeing a figure approaching from down the paved walking path, he simple waited.