Sometimes I sink down into my memories. I fall into them, and land in the center of my chest. I sit, and I steam. My breathing gets heavy. My face tightens, and my eyes close. My eyes close and stare ahead. I stare into the future and see my memories. I see what could?ve been, and what was and is no more. I don?t ask myself what went wrong, or what if things had been different. I just sit and steam.
Kirsten. Friends in highschool. I had a crush on her. I remember, one day in class I was walking towards her, across the big gym sized room. I don?t know if she saw me, but she began to stretch. She clasped her hands together, extended her arms, and arched her body. She was a willow displaying supple curves in the wind, and I was a lone onlooker wondering if nature was sharing its grace just for me.
Maybe if I can let go, and just experience the raw emotional power of my memories, maybe then I will learn the value of them. Maybe the future or the past won?t matter. Maybe what will matter is the right now. This moment. This feeling.
Clarissa. My seventeenth birthday. We are alone, on her couch. She is laying down, her head on my lap. I lean down, and get lost in her warmth for a moment. Our lips disconnect, I lean back. We don?t talk. She wishes my eyes were blue like the ocean after a storm. Hers are, and they are peircing me. My heart is exploding. I realize I love her. We don?t talk.
Kirsten. Friends in highschool. I had a crush on her. I remember, one day in class I was walking towards her, across the big gym sized room. I don?t know if she saw me, but she began to stretch. She clasped her hands together, extended her arms, and arched her body. She was a willow displaying supple curves in the wind, and I was a lone onlooker wondering if nature was sharing its grace just for me.
Maybe if I can let go, and just experience the raw emotional power of my memories, maybe then I will learn the value of them. Maybe the future or the past won?t matter. Maybe what will matter is the right now. This moment. This feeling.
Clarissa. My seventeenth birthday. We are alone, on her couch. She is laying down, her head on my lap. I lean down, and get lost in her warmth for a moment. Our lips disconnect, I lean back. We don?t talk. She wishes my eyes were blue like the ocean after a storm. Hers are, and they are peircing me. My heart is exploding. I realize I love her. We don?t talk.
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