Visceral Memories
He stands softly in line, thoughtful and adorably rumpled. His soft black hair, his gentle smile, remind me of someone very dear to me. My heart takes a deep breath as I remember slender fingers brushing hair from my face, dark eyes meeting mine and a relentless, invisible electric current.
Moments later, a woman pulls up next to me in the parking lot. She has the same shabby-sharp blond haircut and the same longish turned up nose as another person from my memory. The resemblance is so startling, so very close, that I keep staring, keep double-taking until it reaches that point of awkwardness where she notices I am staring, stealing glances. She shoots me a warning look. Embarrassed, I avert my eyes.
In the short space of a few minutes I am reminded of two people from the same point in my past, and all the rest of the way home I am remembering a place where time stood still, or at least moved a little differently on our little piece of the planet. The memories are not visual, but visceral. My cells seem to pop open, filling me out completely, stretching and shining in my skin and for the rest of the evening I am radiant, just radiant.
This piece is newly edited but written some time ago. Image “Radiance” from Digital Blasphemies Gallery
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There she is again. That woman I love. Welcome back. I missed you while you were gone.
I didn’t go anywhere. I’m always the same woman, just showing different facets. Passion abounds in all of them though. So when I speak on issues, I am the same woman who can see the beauty or tragedy of the world equally vividly.
At least the memories were good ones.
Hi everyone. A tactical retreat is not a bad response to a surprise assault, you know. First you survive. Then you choose your own ground. Then you counterattack.
I am from Kiribati and now study English, give true I wrote the following sentence: “Could your pet be a victim of adverse reaction to certain medications and to toxic flea and shampoo products?”
Thank you so much for your future answers ;). Hinda.
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