Try to
remember a moment from when you were young. What did it feel like then? How
does it feel now? Can you describe it? Can you pinpoint a place or are we back
where we started?
The echoes of my memory fade and swell over
time; they tell a story that I want to believe. One of sunburn and dirt, of
water and slip & slides. I can remember the taste, but I can’t quite taste
it.
These are closer to memories of a memory, like the pages of a photo album
that wasn’t made. Like the reflections of a world that I thought were real. I
can remember the sound, but I can’t quite hear it.
Time keeps moving, while all
that is solid melts to air.
