Memories...
Memories. Very often I hate them. Mainly for their euhemeristic nature. You can’t touch them, you can’t feel them in a proper way, and you can’t smell them or see them, unless you close your eyes. They are illusive. They are thin ghosts of life full of … life, and joy. Like an old photograph, reminding you of something, of certain part of your life, of experience that you went through. I hate them also because they tease. Because sometimes the memory is so strong that it gives the opportunity to feel the feeling you felt once, to smell the smells you smelled once, to hear the sounds you heard once. You can close your eyes…and here you go…thinking, constructing, imagining. Building the life in your head that you had once, trying to experience it over and over again. But it is not real. It…