magic & memories

8/18/09

Sometimes I think you ought to revisit memories – the good and the bad, but mostly the good. However, I think people sometimes get these two mixed up. Good memories can initiate bad or miserable feelings, while unhappy memories may create joy in the fact that whatever happened is long over. At least that’s how it is for me.
I think you need to make the best of the memories you’ve got. That definitely doesn’t mean sugar coating anything; nothing tastes worse. It’s not trying to fit puzzle pieces together that never fit in the first place either. There’s also nothing more useful than learning to block out that lazy, apathetic feeling you can get from occasional memories. The Venus fly trap of last summer pulls me in sometimes and threatens to hold me hostage. Sometimes I’m taken, sometimes I even willingly give in. Whether this is unintelligent or not will never upset the consequences. I’ve learned the more you kick and struggle your limbs, the tighter the knot between then and now will inflict more markings in your skin so forgetting the pain or loss you experienced once your euphoria was over is inevitable. It’s uncannily funny how everything that reminds you of that state of euphoria is hugely depressing. So what do we want? Euphoria or normalcy? Infinite dullness or occasional bliss? Living under a veil or living an epiphany? Is it noticeable to be changed by one week of your life, noticeable enough to live off of until your next dosage of fever medicine?
My life is tainted by constant day dreams of memories. Is there anything so tangible it can be savored for what it is? This is a tempting idea, but I remain torn between this and the proposal of strapping my feelings on a leash. All I know is that memories will personally refuse to be cast aside or become a host to dust bunnies. There are memories, magical ones at that, that have spoken to me, placed a healing hand on my heart, and with a soothing voice told me never to regret taking for granted all those days I counted down, persuading me to move on and try new things. ‘It’s alright, Sparrow,’ it spoke to me, ‘don’t shake and shudder your wings now, you’ve got too much to lose.’ But maybe that’s just it.
Maybe it’s all magic playing tricks on us again. It wouldn’t be the first time. It’s just that magic has a fault, and it accepts no apologies. Whether to look up to this or not is still unclear to me, however, the whiny voice of my past tells me to sulk and revolve my world around a question mark.
I can’t tell if I’m done with those days or not. There’s only one thing jumping out of the bushes at me now though, and that’s the never ending excitement that courses through my blood at the thought of my next opportunity to take a stab at a well-earned round of memory-making. For now I’m stuck in a dry land of confusion and masks, where every sorrow becomes a joke and every memory turns to dust.