memories

There isn’t any single memory that will be the same, no matter how similar the recipes are for the events so preciously recorded in our minds. Somehow each ones manages to distinguish itself in its own unique way – a wink here, a smile there, a certain glance, a whiff of hot food, the taste of salt and sand or that faint music that makes every little difference.

Maybe they’re all meant to form a model cluster together, representing what good times and bad times are supposed to be like. But really, I don’t think this does the memories justice, as there’s so much more to it all than just a few drunken nights with some great people. What you get are individual pickings of defining moments spent alongside those you hold dearest.

Somewhere along the line, the memories and the people just become a part of you, weaving in and out of your roots like a wicker basket or a hemp bracelet: ever so complex, yet so flawlessly intertwined that if you start to pull at the wrong thread, the whole entity just comes apart.