Something I Wrote Quite Some Time Ago
Sad how out of all the vast treasury of memories one human mind contains very selected few actually survive until the end. Most of them fade away with time, losing their novelty and flavour. The once sharp details become dim, the clear faces turn blurry. Indeed most of our memories are so similar to paintings. The older they grow the more faded and dusty they become. When time at last fades their colours and obscures the details those wasted memories are sometimes utterly forgotten.
Yet the precious few memories which completely evade time on the other hand remain forever fresh in the mind until death. These memories could be happy, confusing, sad, or even painful. Nothing not even time itself could ever hope to dim one detail of it. The face remains forever fresh, the moment forever new, the emotion forever vibrant.
It simply refuses to die.
Yet the precious few memories which completely evade time on the other hand remain forever fresh in the mind until death. These memories could be happy, confusing, sad, or even painful. Nothing not even time itself could ever hope to dim one detail of it. The face remains forever fresh, the moment forever new, the emotion forever vibrant.
It simply refuses to die.