the unfinished puzzle

there are people i miss in my life. from the most spontaneous strangers to the closest key keepers of my heart, memories constantly float around lost like a photo album in a tornado. so whichever do slap me in the face while we defy gravity with a twirl, those are some crystal clear flashbulbs with a heavy history of repetition.

to miss someone is to long for the past. it’s just too nostalgic to resist. all the emotions flood back for an instant, then recede as we long for the euphoric high to extend into the next week. do you remember how good you felt? who was around you? who’s around you now?

not to blame others for a state of wellbeing. on the contrary, i’m accrediting the true oscar-winners somehow casted into my life. memory is a compliment of significance and relevance. to be remembered is to live in two or more places at once. not only do you store yourself (for some reason), you have hundreds of on-demand channels for your other favorites. it’s not necessarily about the ratings. it’s more about the view count.

if aging is seen as progression, then shouldn’t our current environment be a step above our diluted history? that’d be nice to count on an eternal improvement. the phrase “i’m better from it” wouldn’t even be a mature response to tragedy. it’d be a given.

not all memories start off melancholy. they, too, grow in years and shed their skins for an unexpected look.

“one year may be bliss one year, while the next year that year is a terrible year.” – me

our outtakes are just as pliable, amendable, and flexible as we are. but who’s steering the ship? and will they take a bribe?

yes, there are cognitive exercises designed to edit and rearrange perceptions in the mind. possibly, these are an extremely powerful set of exercises misunderstood under the sole application of therapy. therapeutic exercises no doubt help more than those who check in to the clinic. like painkillers, anyone can try them.

but when i request a change to a body part as personal previous experience, that piece holds no desire to embark. it would rather lethargically throw cheese balls at my chest in an attempt to sink one down my shirt. it’s not harming anyone, but odds are it’s performed its invited function and is past due for an eviction.

our short-term and long-term libraries do provide fascinating stories and occasional satire. wouldn’t this deletion limit the bedtime stories? or the party narratives?

it could. but if it’s causing pain, is there a purpose weighted enough to override the alarms? what do our saddest moments give? the ones where there was no choice in the matter (there never is). “that’s life”?

more likely, my archaeological dig into memory was tainted from the beginning. they don’t serve the individual. they report to the masses.

like a genuine democracy, they do what’s best for their people.

the function of memory that bleeds neon highlighter for visual effectiveness, that being a metaphor for its impressive competence, is the ability to relate with others. through all this suffering is empathy, which may be the most human emotion felt.

there’s a novel agenda behind the familiar thoughts. share them and see the unfinished puzzle.

– D K T



life ends. why pretend

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