The Comfort and Cutting of Memory.

2 Mar

Writing about him opened up a lot in the memory department, I have to say. I’ve been reminiscing since yesterday; I pulled out the old diary and re-read the entries that dealt with him (and there were many); I couldn’t get him out of my mind.

Typically, the occurrence of all of the above would signal major self-analysis; a thorough mental investigation, as performed by me, to determine why he is currently saturating my consciousness and my memory.

No need. 

I completely understand why. It’s death. It’s unnatural and it forces doors to shut, regardless of questions, of the need for closure, of everything. His death is driving all these memories. Discussing the past inevitably brought me to this particular present, where this human being is no longer living. And that is why my mind is saturated.

As usual, I was thinking about the moments of the past,
letting my memory rush over them like water
rushing over the stones on the bottom of a stream.
I was even thinking a little about the future, that place
where people are doing a dance we cannot imagine,
a dance whose name we can only guess.
Billy Collins, “Nostalgia”
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