A month, the time left to forget.
A year, I left it behind.
A twinkling star reminds me the sparkle in his eyes and a sweet melody reminds me the color of her eyes. A dark night brings to my memory his seriousness and a blow of fresh air shows me their images printed on the sky.
A month may be too much, a year may be too late. But two weeks is perfect, two weeks for a couple to fall in love, two weeks to smile or two weeks to finish a book. It doesn’t matter, there are still two weeks.
If you can’t in a year, or in a month, then wait for those two weeks. The time I’ve got left to forget, to let go, to move on. And it doesn’t matter what I do, there are still going to be two weeks. Two weeks made of spring, sunsets and flowers. Two weeks that defy time, that keep frozen in my mind, but I know, sooner or later, I will have to bury them along with the rest of my past. Just give two weeks and I promise I will
Still around. Always haunting. It’s time betraying me once again, it’s life returning to her actual pace. It’s his smile frozen throughout the hours, it’s his laughter hidden between the trails of wind. It’s his happiness fading with the fog. Just give me two weeks and I promise I’ll forget him.
Unable to forget, I keep all of them in my heart and I will keep them there until the end of these eternal two weeks.
Swings, under the edge of night.
Starting to go high.
Carrying those girls to the sky,
up and down and from left to right.
The wind hits their cheeks,
and printed on her face a big smile.
One of them jumps,
the other one laughs.
Remember when the swings carried you to the sky.
When the wind blew your hair,
while you smiled, pleased.
Showing those dimples on your cheeks.
Don’t forget when you use to throw your head back and let your hair touch the floor,
when your friends pushed you forward.
Because I won’t forget, after that big jump,
the ghostly movement of a swing.
Taken from: url
The cat with the yarn, the gray cat that only has to worry on catching his little toy. Just look out the window and see him play unaware of the rest of the world, under a spell. I wish I could be like that cat that once existed and accompanied me through my stormy days, without rain, without going backwards. Just focused on his yarn, as if nothing else exists. The spell of the yarn is nothing he can avoid, unable to look anywhere else than his precious object. Just can’t be away from it, can’t let go even for a minute. That cat doesn’t pay attention to the cars that pass near him, the yarn has rolled into the street and he tries to catch it, until everything for the little cat disappears.
Except for his yarn, the only object he will chase forever. Go on, my little cat! Until time stops you, but I know it never will because there is no obstacle for you. He would go until the end of time, until the stars fall from the sky. I’ll miss that cat, since I gave him the yarn he spent his days near my house playing with. That’s what makes you happy and someday you’ll catch it. Sometimes I see the gray cat with the yarn in my dreams, his whitish ghost playing with the yarn in my living room at nights, I’ll never forget him. His yarn, his entire world.
Taken from: url
He just saw her once, in a bookstore. She was checking one of the books of the Agatha Christie collection, he looked into her eyes for less than a second. His cellphone rang but he didn’t pay attention. He had her in his head for about a week, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t think, he wasn’t in love though, one can’t fall in love with a person in just a second.
She saw him once, in a bookstore. He was around the shelf of Gabriel García Márquez’s books, his glance stabbed hers and she looked into his eyes for less than a second. His cellphone was ringing but he didn’t answer, his hand in his pocket most likely to hang the call. She nodded smiling and continued looking at Murder in the Orient Express. That was a very weird moment, she thought but couldn’t stop reproducing it in her mind.
The second their looks crossed seemed to last forever, like a thousand million years passing by. They continued with their lives until they returned to that bookstore some years after, both looking for romance novels.
Silence in between them.
Trying to recognize that look that used to last a thousand million years.
Memories we lost in the past,
trying to make them come back.
And even though they will not return,
they are locked in crystal spheres inside our minds.
Have we always been like this?
Making our memories the most sacred thing in our lives.
Even if they aren’t with us anymore,
we keep them frozen in the most chilling part of our brain.
Enter through the mahogany door that has been constructed out of old memories, just stumbling upon an empty space below my feet, hiding in a black and low cave. The woods outside begin to turn red and blue and everything vanishes, the wood starts cracking only five seconds before I fall. A white tunnel, with some little blue dots. I can hear the sea and the birds but I can’t see where they come from. Trying to make my way back to the top I slip down a black stair, falling down from an attic.
Inside a carton box, coiled, eyes closed, I pretended to be invisible but they found me. Light is fading by now, reading a blue newspaper and I have to say goodbye to the lines in the floor. I get into the car and wave through the window. They enter again through the mahogany door and I stay outside, feeling raindrops fall over me. The mahogany door closed and my joy inside. And maybe I already forgot those times now but please, Mahogany, don’t forget the memories I have given to you since I’ll ask you about them when we see each other again. Someday, just in that same door constructed with mahogany wood.
Taken from: url
Lost through tall trees, between green grass and dry leaves are our memories, like wind blowing inside our minds. Wind can be soft and gentle or rough and treacherous, wind can be cold or it can be warm. Memories can be like a tornado running through your mind or like gentle breeze accompanying a hot summer day, they can be a lightning in the middle of the night or the echo of crows circling the sky. They can be like fuzzy blue lights in your eyes or even like the whisper of trees when the wind is zigzagging between them.
New lessons to learn everyday, new people to meet and new experiences to gain are the main components of our memories. Those situations you want to keep forever in a a little case, those persons you never want to let go, they are all part of that beautiful forest full of life growing inside your mind. Every person carries a story, everyone carry dreams, everyone carry memories. Memories we collect during whole life: sad, colorful, tough, ephemeral… but all of them have a purpose.
Everyone needs to leave the past in the past, but no one should leave memories behind because those issues that made you stronger, a better person will be like stars shaping the road for you, guiding you through the right path.
What are you waiting for? Present awaits.
And don’t worry, those memories you don’t want to let go will be there. Don’t look back, they will be always there. Hidden inside a forest.
Taken from: url