a heart is captive

a heart is captive

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Invented Memories

In 2006 my life turned inside out for a second time. This time was serious... and personal. It was like my house burned down and everyone I knew died and only ashes were left. I hid inside my mind and pulled the rags around me to keep the storm's stinging rain from cutting my skin further. The rock wall I had built had been bombed and scarcely two stones were on top of each other. Try as I might, I could barely stack a few on top before the next bomb went off. The wind blew cold, the rain was daggers of ice piercing my heart and slicing my mind into usable sections. My whole life; my whole lifetime of memories; of activities, of secrets and friendships; hopes and dreams, died and was not just left to be buried but the body dragged in the streets until my head, arms, feet were ripped off, while their laughter ruptured my ears.
It is now 2012 and the storm has calmed. More bodies were found in the ashes but I am less inclined to be affected. I am able to walk forward and not look back. However everyone should have a few memories to reminisce about on quiet evenings, when a favorite song is played, or a scent wafts through the air and touches the neural receptors. Something need to be recalled. Each day I reinvent my past to create memories so when I hear that song or smell that scent something comes to mind some nice pleasant memory. Of course that song is not the same one, nor is the scent something from "reality past". Reality past is so painful I can become K-Pax, and I do not want to waste one second of this life I have now, for I could die the very next minute; and I wish my memories to bring me comfort in my finals seconds of life. This is the only life I have and I can't bother with the real of my past. No, no that would be stupid and wrong. Will my stories I tell you of my times when we lived in Rome over the bakery, went to the Colosseum to feed the cats; or that autumn and winter I lived in the bedsitter in a run down part of London...So many years ago be lies?

No comments:

Post a Comment