Very few moments are like those beautiful negative afterimages that appear for a second or two inside our dark, misty heads and then disappear into an abyss of dusty, deep crevices of unwilling oblivion. Very, very few moments, again, out of these, occasionally float back onto the delicate surface of old, blue memories tainted with fragile, moth-eaten pages of maroon and gold diaries. Of dried tear-marks. Of transparent fingerprints scattered around the keys and reeds and stops and bellows like the crispy leaves of Fall. Of long-forgotten tunes echoing back from antiquity to merge into the songs of today.
Such a moment was that moment, one of the very, very few.
I don’t know if I can live up to its bouquet of promises.
Lovely words..:) Memories are the oly thing remaining with us when there is nothing left. Sometimes memories make us smile but sometimes it just kills us.. Keep Writing:)
ReplyDeleteWell, for me memories always bring pleasure. Even if it is the memory of the saddest times, this distancing between then and now always eases the pain. I have often remembered terrible memories with a cozy fondness.
DeleteAnyway, thank you for visiting my blog :)