On memory//what haunts us//what saves us//and the dust collecting in the spaces inbetween.
Memory is a glass cabinet, locked.
it is a museum we mummify ourselves in
a place where we can always admire from afar
but never touch again.
the past is fine china serving scars & silver smiles on the same plate
this is why you can still taste the first time she kissed you.
and why you can still stomach heart break in one gulp.
how these memories shift you,
move you, change you, make you into ghost or angel,
martyr or prophet, stubborn mule or grand master.
Do you pick at the wounds of old mistakes
or have healed from it?
Do you enjoy hurting others the way you were hurt?
or did that hurt, make you love harder?
who are you today?
Are you memory buried in skin?
Has time healed you?
can we miss a memory that hasn't been made yet?
can we fall in love with memories that haven't manifested?
A few months ago, i thought i was falling in love.
with soul that i have own for thousands of years.
that this life time is not meant to be stagnant in the idea of waiting
for a body to bend time.
We only remember people at the ages we last saw them.