The road has made me weary.
Events remind me of things, rather than creating new memories.
Circumstances I remember are mostly filled with
and other things that may not always be painful
but they are not always happy.
Years burden you.
People say to
of any age
you're too young to think of such things.
you don't remember what it was like.
Santa heartache loss moving gains.
Monumental events are in the eye of the beholder.
Don't judge another
on what they've been through.
A different person, perspective, emotion,
a way of processing.
Empathy is nice. Pain is pain.
You can't stop a brain from recalling.
It calls from the depths.
And all of the sudden
you're right there.
in the middle
of a place you don't want to be.
Where you haven't been for years,
where no one else is recalling those memories.
Standing in a crowd, looking at yourself, watching the events unfold
because you can't stop them yourself.
You know how it turns out.
It's not always pretty. It's not always bad.
But you don't need that memory.
It's a luxury you don't want.
Like fur. Houses that are too big. 900 channels.
And in my perfect world, I am left on an island
every now and then
an island of my own creation that I didn't want to create.
Moored to an impression that's anchored to a memory.
Sometimes impressions are your own reality.
Then I jump to present day.
I burrow into Thomas and choose again
to anchor myself to what will become a new memory
that I'll go back to one day.
And a smell will wrench me back to Thomas
and his feel and his smell.
Contentment will rise instead of discomfort...
back to life I will go.
Because what is life if it is not the constant
remembrance and fabrication
of what you will be tugged back to
one day in the future?