Memories are
champagne, mingling in golden brilliance in the bottle,
leaving the air singing with its fragrant perfume when
the cork is released. They are roses, dusky wrinkled
petals, yellowed with age and still decayed in
perfection. They are captured and held for eternity in
photographs, old black and white ones, bent at the
corners, grasping the old yesteryears of childhood, of
flickering candles lighting up a birthday cake, adorned
with sticky sweet icing and cinnamon dots. They drift
over forgotten worlds, borne aloft on the imagination of
white castles in the floating dust, of sparkling waters
that rush away carefully constructed sand palaces,
forcing them further and further away …
I look above at a sky that’s
drenched in opalescent hues, as though buckets of thick
paint were splashed across a wide and far-reaching
canvas. Glaring lights and stark noises propel me forward
as I lower my head from the dazzling display above and
continue to walk on. My life is too swift, too
fast-moving and rushed, and so I forget to take the time
to simply store beauty away, I forget to take the time to
taste the decadent bubbles of champagne, I forget to take
the time to touch the fragile roses ...
I forget to take the time to
remember. |