I lost a friend in a yellow room.
What is memory but a distortion, a perception, a hallucination. The most unreliable form of book keeping. Evil thing, it schemed against me tonight. And on so many other nights. I want to reach and hold your hand but I don't let myself. I've been on for so long, I'd like to switch off for a little while.There is not a muscle in my body that ever relaxes and I am tired, so tired. And I am lonely. I am lonely in anticipation of sorrow. I have ignored my present to worry about the future. We seem to go from 0 to 100 in 5 seconds. I ponder and I rationalize and I tear and vocalize, and yet I have no real problems. And no real go-to's with the fake ones.
(let, go, let, go, let, go: it says, for 20 minutes four times a day. it's about time.)
A five month old has no memories. Everyday is new and exciting and the same things are wonderful all over again. Colours and lights and shadows, rainbows and vessels, hairbrushes and keyboards all get the same special treatment. In time, she too will start playing favourites. I hope she builds some real happy memories.
