Imprinted

My earliest memory in life means nothing. 

It involves a woman I don't talk to anymore, 
a place I've never gone to again, 
and a food that I've never really liked. 

Yet, there it has stayed. 
Imprinted into my brain with a pointless and uninspiring permanence. 

Smelling like stagnant lake water and 
tasting like warm Kraft singles.