This morning, while walking down through the endless waterfall of snowflake curtains, through Aleksanterinkatu, I tried to harvest the faces of people written down in my mental book. I tried to remember their eye color, hair texture, wrinkles and frowns; I tried to grab the slippery eel of my imagination, yet I couldn't. I realized my mind has no record of faces nor details, it solely captures objects in which those faces are drawn, objects that are eternally linked to the facial features of those whose names are registered in the visitor book of my life. From my best childhood friend, for example, I simply cannot remember her face. The memories are blurred when it comes to her face, though her fragrance sparkles chapters of my early years. However, I remember clearly the single photo in which we appear together. One of those polaroids stained by the dictatorial flow of years, and her face is there, next to mine, giggling as if it was yesterday. I almost can feel the photo (maybe lost nowadays) revolving in its aging destiny between my tired, frozen fingers. I cannot remember faces. I only remember the photos.
Originally posted by Seitseyou forgot your medication? 😲
This morning, while walking down through the endless waterfall of snowflake curtains, through Aleksanterinkatu, I tried to harvest the faces of people written down in my mental book. I tried to remember their eye color, hair texture, wrinkles and frowns; I tried to grab the slippery eel of my imagination, yet I couldn't. I realized my mind has no record of fa ...[text shortened]... destiny between my tired, frozen fingers. I cannot remember faces. I only remember the photos.