[i]What I remember[/i]

There are things that I do not remember.
Being a babe and toddler, of a time so supremely adored.
Because of this they say you cannot help but be their ward.
I do not remember this, but I know.
From door to door I go, not disturbing the space in my mind, the precious flow.
Such things are routine, I do not remember them, but I know. 
As a rule I am not like the others, only I know that I know in the way that I know.
I have no brothers, not kin from which I draw remembrance;
no faces of lovers, different instances of me, holding monopoly, on knowledge of me.
No, because even I don't know me.
I remember my cognition of the darkness, an expanse of fanciful things. 
Not a chance, but for sure I know, I am that darkness, a dismembered thing.