I remember a tree. From a huge tree under which they played little. A legend said it was a hundred years and he knew our grandparents. Then he whispered all sorts of stories, we wanted these secrets it keeps. This massive tree and immortal.
I remember a swing. My feet never touched the ground. I asked that pushes me far, far away until I feel the wind in my hair and delicious fear of falling.
I remember one very nice boy. A boy I liked. And when we played hide and seek, it is with him I always wanted to hide.
I remember a restaurant that provided delicious pancakes. Pancakes with butter and sugar. He was my favorite sin.
I remember this restaurant which later went. I found a bar where all my friends, all my prospects.
I went back, years later, revisit these moments of the past. But the tree was not as large as telling my ideas. The swing not quite as high. And very ugly boy. The bar got bored. And pancakes had become inedible.
I returned, disappointed, in my present which was previously awarded by the sparks of my memories. I wanted my memory betrayed me. I wanted my imagination, which she, without any invitation, came to mix the real and the unreal.
I should leave ... I do believe it's because I saw these false memories. I should continue my path, keep the spark, tell the delight of my past, borrow from my memory, my imagination to add a little more each time I think and yet more each time I said, I welcome this false happiness but still pleasant, smile, have the spark in the eye and to draw strength to continue, hoping to return them ... Because it
stirring the past, looking for evidence when the deadline has passed, calling into question the accuracy of memories that are being destroyed what remained in our hungry heart.
Memories belong to a bygone era. To a complete phase. At a time fatal. The memories should stay where they were left. Even when they are only half true. The page must be rotated. And when we try to resurrect, you end up killing them. And our story, my love, and that's the truth. ©
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