Memory

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What’s a memory but a moment immortalized in the moonlit mind of a midnight dreamer,
A gem of golden gladness gloriously displayed
Or perhaps a moment of madness mirshed with misery
That stands tall torturous in ones mind as solid and immutable as a diamond by stress formed
But is a memory a gem to be held polished and admired or a deadly shard with which to cut oneself
Is it so solid and immutable?
Or rather is it simply a bubble of iridescence capturing a fleeting moment of sun and reflecting a million rainbows?
Each glance back casting the brilliance of experience upon the fragile moment and seeing the subtle nuance of the bubble sounds dancing in the winds of time
A memory moment so fragile and mutable that the experience of seeing it changes it and the rainbows dance to a different tune.
So fragile that we grasp it, or we try, our desire to know, invisible hands grasping at that moment until they have…then it is gone forever
A burst of air gone and the moment the kiss the words gone forever.
As a bubble bursts and leaves behind air so the moment leaves behind an aching emptiness
Or is memory a river, rapidly running rampart, it’s riotous rage ripping the bank and rising to the present
The inundation seeping through everything and overwhelming now and sweeping everything to the past
Or maybe a mountain, an obstacle obstructing openness and overshadowing opportunities opening up
or maybe, maybe the past is a mystery madly made magnificent or maybe a mirror

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