Do memories have shapes?
Like small words with big bubble shaped meanings?
Or, like the weird shape of a foreign country on the atlas?
Have you ever been spooked by one that hit you like a bullet,
Or, did you ever breathe easy when it was a near miss?
Did any ever add to your sense of displacement,
Like an identity crisis that actually makes you into who you are?
Sometimes it’s best to let memories be.
Trying to put them into words takes the edge away from it all.
It dulls the pain, but, corrupts the truth.
Yes, it hurts, but I think I’d never go a day without thinking of my bag full of memories.
They’re like diamonds, but no one covets them or can steal from me.
What is mine is mine, and you’re entitled to yours.
It’s funny how I actually dig memories; I mean I thrive on them.
Though I hate admitting it at times; and, no, don’t get me wrong.
I don’t live in the past; the present is more than I can handle.
But, it’s like the case of old books and perfumes that I can’t let go.
Like the good ones that make me feel like seventeen again.
And, the bad ones are like mismatched couples, a bit like a freaky fashion statement;
Much like when you try to match a pair of orange stilettos with a pink clutch,
and, think how cool that is!
In retrospect, it’s those memories that often last longer than the fairytale dresses.
Those are the ones that you secretly root for, and, would still repeat the faux pas
But, definitely with better grace and, a head held high
That helps you float past the illusion with a smile, and a generous pinch of salt.
Have you ever wanted to go travel back in time and lose your innocence again?
But, this time did you want to ensure that you etch the memory, and the pleasure of it forever in your heart?
Memories are such that you might swim away from them, but often when you least expect it,
They come back drop by drop to circle you with riddles of life.