Memory Through Time
from Peyups.com

Memory is parallel with time. Both extend indefinitely to forever, and inevitably, I cannot go back to either. I cannot turn back time. And even more that I cannot go back to what happened before. Memories, after all, are pictures of past captured in time long forgotten. Still pictures, dead pictures, of childhood, of love, of friendship, that may be bundled in the mind with emotions. Still pictures, yes, but as seen by my mind wanting to relive past moments, they move, they laugh, they scream. They cry. Emotions can resurface, but it will never be the exact copy of before. Simply because time has changed, and so have I, and that would be reviving the experience in another time, by a different person.

Memory is parallel with time. Both extend indefinitely to forever, but the advance of one can be obstructed. I can choose when to stop making memories. When I will just be contented with what I have and prefer to stare at it as time continues to progress. I will stare at it and the bullets of seconds and minutes will be shot right past me—but I will never notice, simply because I will not care if time leaves me, as long as I have memory right in my hands. As long as my eyes can look at it, as my mind can kindle the fire that will light the stage of yesterday. Until I see the thinning end of time rushing through.

Only then, maybe, will I run after time, chasing it like a madman, making new memories parallel to it. Too fast, too fast, until I forget what I am after, and the line of memories will far exceed time.

This has happened to me.

There is a place that exists within me where memory is longer than time, but now I know, through time, memory will stop moving, and it will surpass everything in its path until memory is reduced to a single dot among the vastness of space, of my life, and of time itself. And when this happens I will not look for it again, never, because maybe the moment I see it, I will easily let everything around me fall apart until this dot of a memory is all I have, until it exists by itself.

This I learned as I reviewed that memory, that picture, of time speeding through and slowing down to months and years. Of holding on to memories with both hands. This I learned through time.