Memory

The nice thing about memory, is that it is always infused with elements of fantasy, idealism or wishful thinking . . . Some are concrete. Some are inescapable. But, it seems like the good ones are flexible and while they remain past, are able to, at times, to open spaces, worlds, openings for living in the present/future. Windows? No. More like retroactive pile drivers, able to breakthrough hard material when and if called upon.

That said . . .

'Do you remember? Do you? The boy with the books, coming down the stairs, one eye, as always, on the books, the other, as always, on the girl; the magnetic, adorable girl. Simple, wan't it? A boy chasing and a girl chasing back. Do you remember? The boy with the smile, and the girl with the eyes. The nerves, the hand holding, the walks. The stars, the prayers, the tears. The trying, wishing, hoping. Then, the world was made of looks, hands, smiles, and steps, both small and big. At the time, it seemed like a whirlwind--a chaotic swirl. But, now, it seems so simple. I remember. I remember the ice cream. I remember the parking lots, the playgrounds, and the ball games. I remember being safe. I remember feeling home. I remember the stairs--taking steps--climbing up and down--following you. I remember, the stairs--taking steps--climbing up and down--being followed. I remember green eyes and first kisses. I remember bad films and a crick in my neck. I remember the sunrise, the sunset, and everything in between. '

I remember . . . As long as you do too, then the present/future is still somewhere in those simple memories; fantastic, idealistic, wishful or not.