Memories of Memories
MEMORIES OF MEMORIES
Perception is a funny thing, slippery and mutable. Perception of the past is even more difficult, our wants and desires of the moment coloring our views of the wants and desires of times past. Sometimes I wonder if we long for things we are genuinely missing, or if we are really longing for faded sepia-toned memories of what we are missing. Can we really trust our memories to give us the clearest picture of what was? Is there such a thing as emotional proof?
Your touch encapsulates me like climbing vines on melancholy walls.
I cannot seem to recall your face, but I see your smile in every window, your eyes in every star. Like perfume on a flower, I am bound by memory to you. How did your lips feel on mine? In what way did your voice caress my ears, enflame my heart? What had I done to poison what I had?
I am much like the statues in the park, sightless, deaf, immobile. I was where I am when the snow began. Come and touch me, breathe life into my form once more. Thoughts of you fall to my soul
as dew to the pasture. I am still here.
I cannot seem to recall your face, but I see your smile in every window, your eyes in every star. Like perfume on a flower, I am bound by memory to you. How did your lips feel on mine? In what way did your voice caress my ears, enflame my heart? What had I done to poison what I had?
I am much like the statues in the park, sightless, deaf, immobile. I was where I am when the snow began. Come and touch me, breathe life into my form once more. Thoughts of you fall to my soul
as dew to the pasture. I am still here.
It was through nights such as this that I held you in my arms.
They are all nights like this.
It is on nights like this, memories of you grip my heart with chilled, shadow-fingers. My despair rides the wind in hopes of touching your ears, so that you may find me while I still love.
It is on nights like this, memories of you grip my heart with chilled, shadow-fingers. My despair rides the wind in hopes of touching your ears, so that you may find me while I still love.
I remember when I had so much less to recall, fewer moments to cling to.
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This prosery contain the line “I was where I am/ When the snow began”
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©2023 Christopher Reilley
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I like the discussion of perception in the opening paragraph Chris, and I especially love: ‘I cannot seem to recall your face, but I see your smile in every window, your eyes in every star. Like perfume on a flower, I am bound by memory to you’.
ReplyDeleteMemory is tricky and unreliable. I like the questioning of it. And you have many beautiful, poetic lines in this piece of profound longing for what was or might have been.
ReplyDelete"I cannot seem to recall your face, but I see your smile in every window, your eyes in every star. Like perfume on a flower, I am bound by memory to you. "
I feel this deep in my bones, that sense of loss that seems to only grow with time-
ReplyDeleteMemory is so fluid, but the pain so very real.
ReplyDeleteYour post makes me wonder about how things are remembered and how much perspective comes into play.
ReplyDeleteAlso, it is so significant that we need each other to help breathe life into our souls.