Every now and then
have a sudden burst of memory, something which I may have forgotten
for years that invades my consciousness and remains to haunt me for
days.
Often this is caused by
a piece of music, sometimes a fragrance,a tiny pebble dropped in the
well of memory which sends ripples into the dark corners of my mind
where lie memories to painful to bear yet to precious to
forget.
As a normally up beat
person I find these occasions disquieting, to discover that after so
many years the longing, the love and the hurt are still so fresh in
spite of being buried amongst the lumber of a life times experiences
is always a surprise.
Time can age us,it can
line our faces, it can grey our hair and it can change us so that we
do not know ourselves,memories are the last things to go. They
remain,either treasured or hidden away,to tantalise,and to torment,
or to comfort, sometimes.
The thing that both
good and bad memories have in common is that they can both be
painful,as if the wound were still bleeding and fresh,and this is
Times trick,its barbed arrow,for as you still feel the suns warmth
from half a century ago; or the dreadful pain of loss as if to were
yesterday, you yourself are the only thing to have changed. Your
memories stay evergreen and mock the age spots on the hands that were
once elegant and fine. The heart still feels the passion of a love long
dead even when it is old and tired.
Weather this is good or
bad I do not know, Often I think that forgetfulness would be more
merciful,
yet at other times I
cling to a remembrance as if it could save me from drowning.
There is,in “The
Arabian Nights”a tale about a blue rose, who's scent ,if inhaled
induced forgetfulness. I suspect that whoever wrote that tale would
understand my ramblings better than I do myself.
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