I have trouble remembering things. Numbers, names, faces, lyrics… it must be a genetic aberration inherited from some obscure ancestor. But I do have flashes of what should we call it… remembering. Crystal clear memory of things best left forgotten.
Like sometimes I notice the way people cross their legs, the way they scratch their finger nails even the angle and the number of times. I can’t help noticing the slight nuances, inflection and accent when they answer questions… the throbbing of the veins on the neck. The way they flick their hair, roll their eyes.
Sometimes when I walk through a parking lot I can recall the license plates and the color of the vehicles. Why? I don’t know. Most of the time I don’t see anything nor remember. When I walk into a room, I can’t help noticing the arrangement of things… as much as I try to look the other way my peripheral vision registers things.
Like the color of the paint, the bubbles trapped in the paint, the veins of the crack. The arrangement of wires in the roof, the placement of the stove, the burns on the stove. I can even see (or so I think) where a fire may start where it will spread first. I can recall the scent, the soap in the kitchen… I can’t help it. I remember picture frames, the images trapped in time, the silent smiles… how they were placed, I see the slight dust around them where a rag was not able to reach. Every piece of clothing. I even see the shoes, the slippers… which side of the heel is worn the most. I could almost see how the owner walks… I remember the first lines of Lord Byron’s “She Walks in Beauty” ring through my ears. I can clearly see the magnetic letters arranged on the refrigerator. I can even read them now as if they’re in front of me and how they mysteriously rearranged themselves into nothingness.
I see them and the implications. Conclusions, right or wrong… Uncertainties.
It doesn’t matter. It pains me to see things like this. It makes me sad, hurt even. Like a bucket of cold water dumped into a raging fire… the hissing of dying embers. What was I thinking in the first place.
Some things, perhaps, were never meant to be.
Like Lego blocks… things click into place. I hope I forget them when I wake up tomorrow and remember only the things and people that matter the most. The smoldering embers that refuse to die, the gentle music of her laughter and the soothing presence of her soul… in my dreams anyway.
Tags: hurt, life, memory, photographic memory, sadness, sorrow
