The time has gone through the garbage disposal, and with it the corrupted memories. I turned the switch on so the detritus goes down the drain, all the way to the sewage, where it belongs, washed away with someone’s putrid bodily fluids. it has slipped through without a trace. I don’t even remember what this writing is about.
I confronted a stranger once on the street. I noticed my blood rushing to my head and at the same time I got frozen. I didn’t have any mobility. Right after I felt pain in my heart. My lungs hurt, my chest was sore. I felt I needed to inhale as much air as possible and retained it for as long as possible.
Me and them. There is so much that is not learned in school. Knowledge is not free and it’s not a choice to acquire it.
I have lost my place in the book of my remembrance too many times. I feel it happens more often than it should. Sometimes entire chapters get lost. Sometimes I lose memories purposefully.
We hoard our existence with so many chores and routines that we reach a point when we need someone else to do that tedious and mindless job for us. But once that happens, it is practically impossible to ever take that ability back. We become less and less functional, more and more dependent. It’s a way of aging quickly.
I have a huge confession to make: I’ve always had more trust on people who were good looking. That was until I learned the lesson the hard way. Now it’s the opposite, I have less trust the more good looking they are. I feel quite comfortable with that approach. No regrets. You can’t trust beauty.
We all come in with a generous slice of innocence, and it seems that it is others that take that slice and eat it too, leaving us forever corrupted and lonely, struggling to recreate that innocent spirit and fighting against being doomed by our own hardness.