mnemophobia : prologue
"growing up is losing some illusions,
in order to acquire others."
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My mouth would be sewn shut if this certain subject is placed as the main focus of a conversation.
My mind would do its best to actually clog that hole where all those vague, nebulous memories come from.
I get so afraid, so scared; both mentally and physically ( if that makes any sense), that sometimes, I even helplessly hide my face with my hands, though I know and am very sure of how this fear is caused by something that does not have a physical form. Something that I couldn’t see.
How do you hide from something that is within you?
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There are jars that are placed upon long rows of shelves within both our hearts and minds. Like libraries, we would walk past these shelves every now and then to go back to certain memories ; some which are as clear as home videos while others are choppy, like continuous photos.
These parts of the library are the ones that are well lit. With pretty lights hung lazy along its alleys of shelves, the scent of fresh brewed coffee in plain white mugs accompanied with little muffled conversations between voices that we cherish, the ones that we wish could haunt us forever.
Sounds of laughter, short and sweet phrases and music are recorded here, faces of loved souls are hanged here. The things that made us who we are and brought us to where we are today. The things that we wish and would do anything to make sure we carry them until we are wilted, worn and old.
This is where all the good, sweet memories are kept.
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However, like everything there is in this universe, there would be a place, an antonym of these home-like alleys of jarred memories, a place that is bleak, just to make sure that things are kept in balance.
The place where all the bad memories are kept.
in order to acquire others."
+
My mouth would be sewn shut if this certain subject is placed as the main focus of a conversation.
My mind would do its best to actually clog that hole where all those vague, nebulous memories come from.
I get so afraid, so scared; both mentally and physically ( if that makes any sense), that sometimes, I even helplessly hide my face with my hands, though I know and am very sure of how this fear is caused by something that does not have a physical form. Something that I couldn’t see.
How do you hide from something that is within you?
+
There are jars that are placed upon long rows of shelves within both our hearts and minds. Like libraries, we would walk past these shelves every now and then to go back to certain memories ; some which are as clear as home videos while others are choppy, like continuous photos.
These parts of the library are the ones that are well lit. With pretty lights hung lazy along its alleys of shelves, the scent of fresh brewed coffee in plain white mugs accompanied with little muffled conversations between voices that we cherish, the ones that we wish could haunt us forever.
Sounds of laughter, short and sweet phrases and music are recorded here, faces of loved souls are hanged here. The things that made us who we are and brought us to where we are today. The things that we wish and would do anything to make sure we carry them until we are wilted, worn and old.
This is where all the good, sweet memories are kept.
+
However, like everything there is in this universe, there would be a place, an antonym of these home-like alleys of jarred memories, a place that is bleak, just to make sure that things are kept in balance.
The place where all the bad memories are kept.
Where pain, humiliation and terror are nested. In jars too, but
these jars are kept in boxes instead. We pushed them far back into the shelves,
in hopes that never once again in our lives, we have to experience the
overwhelming feeling that it carries.
These are our past mistakes.
These are our wounds.
A;
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krunk krunk at least. negatives and positives are both accepted