(May 10th) ~ Memories

They overlapped and joined. You couldn’t tell exactly where one started and where another ended except of course, at the very beginning, that first bit of light shown through the material. After that it’s a dizzying amount. Some muddled and faded, old and discarded. Others clear and vibrant, new and cherished. 

Others are dark and stormy, none wanting to truly know. 

Still others are bright and open, open for sharing, none truly affected. 

The lines that crisscross and swiftly jump away, the pull all together, stitch them close. Impossible to forget truly. 

These are my memories, the essence, at least.  

A Near Life Experience

“Dada! See what I makeded you!”  My little daughter holds up a piece of paper, covered in colorful scribbles.  I bend down to look closer.

“It’s beautiful, Madison.”  What I really mean is “You’re beautiful, Madison, and I’m so proud to be your dada and I think I could just watch you be you forever.”  But of course she doesn’t know that.  She simply smiles up at me.

“It’s for you, Dada!”  She thrusts it into my hand then scampers away.

“Open your eyes!”  Someone screams into my ear.  I open them and see the grenade lying on the sand.

5.30.11 Memorial Day

The man slipped into his grey uniform and cap and a shadow came over his face. So many painful memories flooded into his mind.

Memories of the field in which they had fought, side-by-side, through the long hours of the day.
Memories of the gunshots, the screams, of the hard gun pressed against his back, forcing him to go into the cell.
Memories of the cold floor, where he sat, alone, waiting for any sign of life, of a rescuer.

Those were hard, cold, awful memories, but he pushed them aside.

It was Memorial Day, a time to celebrate.

He had survived.

5.22.11 Hallway of Memories

As she walks down the dimly lit hallway that’s walls hold many pictures, memories flood hermind. She strides over the well worn carpet slowly, trying to take in every picture like it is the lasttime she will see them.
On her right there are pictures of all of the milestones that have taken place in her family, themarriages, and the births.
On her left she passes by pictures of her deceased family, and a few tears slip down her wrinkled face.
And although she is old and well-worn, the memories are ironed in her mind.

Blank Page 5.14.2011

The blank page stared  at her. She tapped her pen on it. 

The white paper was to blank. She wanted to write, but couldn’t find the right words. The white blank page stared up at her it dared, challenged her to write something. 

There was so much importance behind this paper. This page was the last clean one. As in the last blank, non-recycled-seven-times page. 

She wanted her words to be important. That they would last until the end of time. The strongest memory would be weaker than these words, even as they faded. 

She began writing.