What do you do with a memory? Do you toss in a box, cart it around with you wherever you go? Do You collect them, like shiny seashells in a sand bucket? Show each one to an audience, a carefully vetted one, so that you can you'll get the reaction you're looking for in your display. What does a memory feel like? Is it soft if you touch it? Can you wrap your arms around it and squeeze it with love? Will it return your affections? What exactly can you do with a memory?
What does it gain you, to remember, but never again engage? Can we truly call ourselves enriched by something so flimsy and malleable as a memory?
You have good memories of him.
The begs the question, was the memory the end goal? was the day today, in and out, ups and downs, affections, rebukes, endearments and disgusts merely required steps to obtain your ultimate goal?
Your goal?
That memory.
Which is the most important memory? Is it the first? Is it the last? How is it that dearly held memories and so quickly turned to poison? Taunting you at what will never be again. You can remember, but never again can you have. Does this make all memories suspect?
Are you supposed to carry each memory, treasure it like your array of credit cards, lest you lose even one and thus lose yourself. Your identity.
What am I supposed to do with this box of memories?
No memory may be carried forever. Those who remember become those remembered and those remembered, too, fade away. So what is gained by carrying a memory at all?
To be wholly dependent on the memory indicates future aspirations are lost. Only memory remains. When there are no memories, and only aspiration exists, we call that birth. We call that exciting, we call that hopeful. But when only memories remain, we call that death.
What do you do with a memory, when sadness has already filled you to capacity?
