Extant memories

When I was first beckoned to this world, I relished in the freedom from that blighted prison. I shared no portion of time to think, truly engage in my restoration, and then I lost it. Bound back into the endless night that torments with its caustic presence. But I held onto an single memory, fighting to retain myself in the submersion. A feeble glimmer in the wake of cacophonous reality.
 
The people of this world call it hope.
 
A monster like me? Bound to the raging cyclone of constant need, my aetherial energies askew with no access to any chance to be free, did I have a reason to hope?
 
I once lived. I know that much. I know there was once a time I had mortal whims and follies and had a chance at joy. And ignorance of the greater powers tore it all away. Even now I can't truly tell if what I feel is real. I see the young of the people in their laughter and their excitement and I hurt. Ever so slightly I sense a tug within the deepest part of myself.
 
It's not easy holding onto this tiny shred among the waves of violence that rises from my need to tap into the aether to avoid risking the madness that entraps so many of my fellows.
 
In fact, I often wonder if there's any worth to keeping it at all, holding onto something that causes me pain when I could ignore it and answer the call of the hunger.
 
For now, I seem to be curious to maintain it. Perhaps the more I remember the easier it will be to stay in this world and not be forced back to the chains of that infinite expanse of doom.
 
It continues to hurt though. Will I ever find out why?