A memory is purely a thought. Memories are a series of thoughts. And we can control our thoughts, right?
Or so I thought.
Listen up. Is it just me or do memories constantly spring out from under rocks? Out from sparkling sunbeams. Out from dark rainclouds. Out of deep expressions. Out from musty smells. Out of loud musical notes. Out of calendar dates. Out of vivid dreams. They are ruthless and surprise you. Like a bad haircut.
Memories dance in and out like ribbons on a floating balloon, weaving around me, taunting and teasing like a magnet waiting to be caught.
How does one stop them from appearing without any prompting? What’s the cure?
Time I guess. Time. Time. Time…….