Sunday, August 05, 2007
Iterum Solitas
It’s funny. When you encounter a moment that you want to remember, and you tell yourself to hold on to all of it, remind yourself to make note of the details so you can paint the picture when the moment is right. We do that with the moments that we never want to forget, or even with the moments we never wished had to happen.
Then there are the moments that are so encompassing, even in their subtleties, that you know they will be engraved in soul until the day of your passing. You don’t have to remind yourself to hold on to any of the memories; your mind will do that by sheer default.
But you remember not necessarily the larger scope- the date, the current newsworthy events, peripheral parties involved- but rather the smaller details. The things you somehow failed to notice before.
You remember the way she needed a red marker, and you handed her brown- three times, only to be corrected with sigh- three times.
You remember that all her play horses were girls, because girls rule.
You remember the frilly, white dress, perfect in its innocence, and how she asked you to re-tie the back because her arms weren’t long enough.
You remember how you didn’t realize how hard it was not to cry because you were too distracted with the notion of good bye.
You remember how her little arms fit so snuggly around your neck until you handed her off…
..and then you remember how at that moment you realized how much better they fit around her mother’s, and that they both would be just fine, perfect in a beauty that no artist will ever do justice.
Then you walked off, into the sunset, journeying on, alone again.
Then there are the moments that are so encompassing, even in their subtleties, that you know they will be engraved in soul until the day of your passing. You don’t have to remind yourself to hold on to any of the memories; your mind will do that by sheer default.
But you remember not necessarily the larger scope- the date, the current newsworthy events, peripheral parties involved- but rather the smaller details. The things you somehow failed to notice before.
You remember the way she needed a red marker, and you handed her brown- three times, only to be corrected with sigh- three times.
You remember that all her play horses were girls, because girls rule.
You remember the frilly, white dress, perfect in its innocence, and how she asked you to re-tie the back because her arms weren’t long enough.
You remember how you didn’t realize how hard it was not to cry because you were too distracted with the notion of good bye.
You remember how her little arms fit so snuggly around your neck until you handed her off…
..and then you remember how at that moment you realized how much better they fit around her mother’s, and that they both would be just fine, perfect in a beauty that no artist will ever do justice.
Then you walked off, into the sunset, journeying on, alone again.
