Letters: Memory cards
There was an interrupted dream at night while my sleep had been
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and <pausing>
until all the stories were mixed up.
There was us acting cartoonish on the sofa
he held my hands like he was praying
the heavy in his look made time tripple
I used my own heartbeats to count (four per second maybe)
He looked at me like I was already dead under the pressure of my own self inflicted sadness
...There was another thing I had forgotten
a piece of memory flying by like a silk scarf
wrapping itself around my forehead to sing quiet hymns and remind me of...
An adult gathering on a bus
beneath the neon lit roof we sat with headphones to create individual soundtracks of sorts
my curious eyes
were cutting the air in pizza slices
wishing more people had viewed it as a silent disco
but also me granting them the sleep I could see in their siluettes that they so desperately needed
the sleep that we all need
There was something else I had forgotten.
A room at a party. I sat in a circle of exchanging gazes over the space of a round IKEA table.
I think we were playing with memories that day, and you asked Sandra how it went with that shy friend she had brought to a party once.
How the hell could someone remember a party?
I don't think it would have mattered if I was drunk.
Parties fall away into a memory train were only the scripts remain
Until you are at a new party they sit in this train library, and when you use them again,
it feels the same but you won't know
I remember a ceremonial laughter stuck in my ears while I wandered home
You don't really wear a lot of coloured clothes so I remember each one.
Here's an axe pick: The aqua blue shirt you never wear, the green reggaeton one and the long sleeved with a print of a dude with a big cigarr, stained by ketchup
You think they all look cheap and capitalistic, thats what you said
when I pointed out how your wardrobe look like a massive black hole
But I don't know.
You have asked me three or four times why I don't remember so much and implied it a few other times. Because I don't have a straight answer I just go with laughter, but a feeling of guilt stabs me each time.
I can't remember much of when I was five. I have black holes throughout all the years and most nights. I think my brain is damaged, some times, but I've thought that maybe it's more that I choose what should stick and what should not. Or I'm too busy keeping an open eye, for new information
Or maybe I bruise easily. Maybe I need to be tougher around the edges.
I played memory cards with your little sister once and I couldn't win so I blamed it on her young age. But deep down I knew it was my lack of remembering: What's hurtful is maybe when I forget something that's treasured by you, and you don't wanna think badly about me. I should apologize but I can't remember how many times I have apologized, or if I have really done that, or if I really have anything I've done _in reality_ I should apologize for. Maybe it's just my head being fucked again and starting to think the way I work is wrong because I can't see it represented in other peoples brains.
I would like to prove that time is round, or goes a bit how it wants sometimes, but I can't remember or understand what anyone has told me about Einstein. Maybe I should try to learn again. There are many school books I should go back to actually cause there is so much lost to time now. All off the gossip, too. I don't think it'll ever come back. But past time is memories painted in colour and alive and I have lost my childhood but the more colorful other years has been, the more experience I have anyway. Maybe time is life spent learning, learning all kinds of things both small and big, and you have to learn to remember. If many things are the same, you won't remember them, no matter how outstretched they lay on a big amount of time. Present time is more crucial and some times you can loose that too. I'm trying not to.
I'm not sure that this text too will stop feeling like a dream after you try to make sense of it. Maybe a new reality will unfold little by little when I press send. Or maybe, I just opened another window to the black space between the lines of every persons thoughts. The star constellations and depth that's between the information parts proven to be real, the edges for us to hold onto, our commonly understood reality.
Sandras friend got home fine that night and she made some new friends. Sandras friend, got home fine, that night she made new friends. The feeling in her gut had evolved and she felt she really would remember that party. The yellow black dotted drapes and a special smile in someones face and a change from being in her own place.
Your wardrobe is a black hole and you don't wear any symbols or information. It's interesting to think about you and if time with you is a dream, I'm glad either way. You are timeless in what you wear. I think my memories of you in the end will be gathered to a sharp portrait with the colours and motions in your face of many many years. A timelapse moving like the pictures in papers in Harry Potter. And the feeling will be from all the memories equal, not just the last ones.
It is with my love for you in my heart I go to bed warm tonight. Thank you for letting me spill my words here and for picking them up.
I love you always
tu Feli