Memories of Memories

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.

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. Can we really trust our memories to give us the clearest picture of what was? Is there such a thing as emotional proof?

Psychologists will tell you that people tend to recall the good times in their lives with far greater clarity than the bad times, however the negative impressions of our memories tend to float to the surface more often.

So what does that say about how we feel about the loves in our lives that are no more? Or is hanging on worth it, can Love capital L find a way?


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?

I am much like the statues in the park,
sightless, deaf, immobile.
Come and touch me,
breathe life into my form once more.
Thoughts of you fall to my soul
as dew to the pasture.
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.

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