On Forgetting
Everyone is moving on or away, I don't suppose there's much difference really . As the years melt together in memory, people's faces are lost in a stroke of midsummer evening sunbeams that haunt my thoughts and transpire people into memories and from memories into ghosts.
I hear children's laughter as background noise to my own childhood and I find it easy to forget things. These familial connections that you make outside of blood are severed as years rip away the hands that once clasped
one another so desperately. It's their eyes and their smiles that I remember the most, the people that melted away, it's my way of holding onto any recognition of them. I can forget a person's face in a day, watch in my minds eye as their features all dissolve into one another and they resemble a petal, beautiful but empty.
Lullaby summer nights are a thing of childhood now, and I can forget the midnight tainted grass and sandy beaches. I can forget waiting for the shooting stars to part the crowds of lights in the sky, I could forget a lot of things. But it's attaching the nostalgia to them that makes me cup my memories in my hands. And for every person that you forget, there are those that did not fade away, whose eyes and smiles are almost a daily occurence. They make memories of yesterday, and ask 'What of tomorrow?'
Memories in my hands, tomorrow in my heart.
I hear children's laughter as background noise to my own childhood and I find it easy to forget things. These familial connections that you make outside of blood are severed as years rip away the hands that once clasped
one another so desperately. It's their eyes and their smiles that I remember the most, the people that melted away, it's my way of holding onto any recognition of them. I can forget a person's face in a day, watch in my minds eye as their features all dissolve into one another and they resemble a petal, beautiful but empty.
Lullaby summer nights are a thing of childhood now, and I can forget the midnight tainted grass and sandy beaches. I can forget waiting for the shooting stars to part the crowds of lights in the sky, I could forget a lot of things. But it's attaching the nostalgia to them that makes me cup my memories in my hands. And for every person that you forget, there are those that did not fade away, whose eyes and smiles are almost a daily occurence. They make memories of yesterday, and ask 'What of tomorrow?'
Memories in my hands, tomorrow in my heart.