The pristine white… nothing mars its surface. And I am loath to put pen to it, spoiling the perfection that is so becoming of it. But it cannot be helped. I've been deliberating on this exercise for so long, I feel any further delay will not be for the best.
But when you look at it, isn't it in these most tangible things that our lives’ memories are stored? An unwritten page… the drying ink well… the coffee growing cold… the splatter of the rain against the window pane. All those inexplicably tangible things… they all remind us of certain events in life.
Some of these events we cherish and bemoan the fact that they’re long gone, already a memory. And some, we wish would remain in the past and not ravage our minds with the pain we have associated with them.
This memory… of a lazy afternoon with the rain pouring from the heavens above… with just myself for company as my favorite song keeps playing in a loop – I’ve long since associated this with utter bliss. A time when things were so uncomplicated and simple. I claim simplicity is an illusion that one would do well not to cling onto. But I know I’m the hypocrite here. How I long for the simple past where I had stories to hide myself in… stories that I had made up in my mind, with characters from a well-loved book or from a television series that I just couldn't get my mind out of.
But it is the very fact that we can never go back to those simple times that makes them all the more precious. And all we have are remanences of those times left behind in the many tangible objects, the connection strangely and ironically intangible!
Maybe if given enough time, we can transfer our entire life’s essence into enough tangible receptacles to live on… even if only to the select few who can make the connection.
A moment immortalized until there be someone to remember.