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Memory - Blog Posts
Unresolved
Scraping past a tooth, a fingernail grows thin;
The last evidence of a life lost in time
Is this dead keratin.
Swirls from the mind, consuming everything,
Cement uncertainty in the soundest mind,
Loosening grip within.
Each day starts anew, by popular belief;
Yet all is the same except the white numbers,
Not turning a new leaf.
Moving, yet static motions of tumbling grief
Are borne by bodies smoldering to cinders,
Never able to leave.
https://twwrt.wordpress.com/2022/11/21/unresolved/
faded memory
There is something to be said about the way in which a memory fades - like ink in water, rippling until it is no longer there.
It fades with the finality of a written ending, in way it leaves no room for further discussion; it simply vanishes.
And like ink in water, it is hard to catch before it leaves completely. It simply stains other memories, giving a gray veil
that wasn't there before. But its echo - that noise it made while it lived, forever remains in your brain.
~ Ely C. Winters.
All alone in the moonlight I can smile at the old days The time I knew what happiness was Let the memory live again 月光の中全ては一人ぼっちで 私は過去に笑いかける 何が幸せかを知った時の その記憶を再び蘇らせて 〜Memory ／ Musical 「Cats」 Happy Birthday , @bullzara
Love
But who’s going to remember that time at 3:47 PM when your photo was posted all over for the world to see and that one, oh that one, very certain specific embodiment of this universe will remember and cherish this moment forever, because they won’t and that’s bullshit because no one else cares but you and your life is in ruins because the feelings never end and the pain is always there but you somehow get up in the morning and see the light and think
everything is okay.
It occured to Callisto--perhaps a bit belatedly--that they really shouldn’t have gone on ahead without Gaster. He was much more confident, smart, composed--
“H-Hey, come on, just listen. Please,” They held their notebook out, open to their notes. “Look, it’s--I have a plan, sir--”
Asgore didn’t even look like he’d heard them. Callisto threw themself to the ground to attempt to avoid Asgore’s trident, though they did end up with a rather nasty gash on their bicep and a complimentary tear in the sleeve of their sweater. Their journal was dropped, loose pages scattering across the bed of flowers. They first grabbed at the wound, but all that did was get blood all over their hands.
Callisto still scrambled to gather up what they could, and stood again, eyes watery with tears. They took a shaky breath, sniffling a bit and readjusting their glasses. It was their turn to make a move, after all. Quivering, they flipped back to where they had furiously scribbled all of Gaster’s important points--why this was more efficient, why it was better, what good it’d do in the long run--and took another breath. A few stray tears slipped out, but Callisto dashed them away quickly.
Gaster would not be shaking in his boots.
Gaster would’ve convinced Asgore to discuss this over a steaming cup of tea by now.
I’m going to die. The thought was sudden; unwelcome. Callisto pushed it away.
“You s-see, if you would a-allow me to explain... Y-You don’t h-have to hurt anyone, sir.” Their voice cracked, trembling. They were terrified, and it was clear for everyone to see. Being so easily read was only making them more afraid, though. Would that make them lose their credibility?
“I can just g-go back home, and bring back my foster parents, and... And...”
I’m going to die.
The hesitation was all Asgore needed to make his move again, this time opening another deep wound on their calf. Callisto dropped to their knees, but kept the journal clutched tight to their chest.
“W-Wait,” They whimpered softly. “Please,”
Dark red was staining the buttercups underneath them. They were going to die.
The sudden sound of frantic footsteps turned their head, back towards the long hallway they’d come down to get here. In the tall archway--
“Gaster?” Journal dropping, Callisto dragged themself to their feet, turning their back to Asgore. They were so relieved. He was here, he was going to tell Asgore it was all okay, and Callisto could go home. They could fix this all.
“You... You came for m-me?”
Three metal points, coated with a viscous, red substance--was that their blood?--sprouted from their chest. Callisto’s eyes flickered from their friend briefly to look down. It didn’t look real. Confused, they looked back up to Gaster. They couldn’t read his expression. Asgore must’ve yanked back on the trident because now they were lying on their back with three gaping holes in their chest, struggling to breathe. Gasping for air, their hand started to look for their journal. It must’ve fallen nearby--
“Callisto,” Oh, no. No no no no.
"Oh... Oh my god,” There was a pressure on their chest. He must’ve been trying to stanch the bleeding. Callisto had a vague feeling of guilt; blood stains would be hard to get out of his white fur. At least it’d grow out.
“Sorry,” It came out garbled. It hurt. Everything hurt. Callisto was afraid.
There were dozens of assurances that it was okay, that it wasn’t their fault, but they started crying anyways. They should’ve listened.
“Am I dying?”
“No, no, you aren’t dying. We’ll fix you up, Little Moon.” Callisto let out a short sob. He was wrong. Weakly, they pushed his paws off their chest--the blood was just soaking through anyways--and gripped a furry paw tightly in their hand, trying to look him directly in the eyes for once. Their breath rattled in out out raggedly, and when they tried to speak again, all that came out was blood. They sucked in a breath; they sucked in blood. They couldn’t breathe, they couldn’t breathe. They struggled, free hand gripping at the bloody buttercups underneath them, as if by holding onto something solid, something real, they could stay. They had to stay.
They had to tell him--
Callisto’s eyes rolled back, tensed muscles gradually loosening.
Their blood-stained hand let go of Gaster’s.
Excuse me! Your glasses are quite intriguing. Have you a tale to tell or two to tell to me concerning them?
“Oh yeah! I definitely have some interesting stories. I mean, they’re just your ordinary pair of prescription glasses, so they’re not super great stories, but,” Callisto let out a short, nervous laugh.
“There was this one time my dog got a hold them. It was pretty crazy, actually, because I definitely thought that they were safe on the table, but no, Scout jumped up and grabbed ‘em! I mean, he was a greyhound, and kinda tall, so… I should’ve seen it coming. Anyways, he almost broke them.
“Scout really liked to take things and make you chase him around, and usually it was just socks! He’d must’ve been waiting to get his paws on something I really cared about though, haha. The game always lasted longer when he did that. Luckily, I managed to grab them before he chewed them up too bad… He did break them in half, though. That’s why I’ve taped the middle.”
“It suggests that the most straightforwardly fraudulent forms of fake news are a small part of what is shaping how people understand the world. People’s hunger for information that suits their prejudices is powerful, and in the digital media age, a pile of it emerges to satisfy that demand.”
I diagnosed myself of suicidal tendencies.
I'm over it now
I'm glad I'm over it.
I was fascinated by death
But it's over now.
What would have happened
If my thoughts had gone real..?
If my laziness had not pertained.?
Yes, I was lazy to die too...
I would have jumped off that building I pass through everyday.
I would have been somewhere else now
Food to the worms
And in time would have been just bones and only bones.
Many would have cried....
Some for days, others for weeks, and
Yet a few for months.
But the law of memory would have allowed everybody to forget me.
That's what happens to everybody.
That's normal.
But then, why is it normal..?
Why do we forget..?
We say people are everything
Then why do we forget..?
I know its moving on,
And that it's very essential.
But then, most of the time
The person doesn't even remain in our vaguest memory.
Aniversaries of death in the initial years
Brings back the flood of tears.
But with years, even that dissappears.
So, what significance do people have
What do they mean in life.?
That haunts me today
More than my chaos.
And now, death does not facinate me
But rather the question....
Why does the memory fade away..?
Did I crossed the line?
You don't like the bitterness of coffee until you are with the person with whom you have spent eternities together in the past, so the realization hits that it's the only pathway to your memories of childhood.
So you sip the bitterness calmly in hope of turning back time and meeting the daffodils you once grew together in your garden of innocence.....
~s
And their are the cold nights where I miss you a little more, my inside crumbles and the heart cries.
The brain is so frustrating because I can’t remember what my mother wanted for Mother’s Day.
The conversation was two days ago.
I don’t think she wants a ladder, Brain.