Lost & Found

To All—

Is anyone missing a memory?

Sometimes I have a recollection that doesn’t feel like my own. I reminisce in a vacant lot that’s somebody else’s. But at the same time I can distinctly remember the moment as if it happened in my misty past.

This memory may be in the form of a place, a moment, a person. I end up missing a backyard I never played in, an hour I never passed, a person I never knew. It’s fragments of a life I never lived.

If anyone is missing fond memories, I’m sure we can get this straightened out.

-Seph

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4 thoughts on “Lost & Found

  1. I totally get it! Sometimes its surprise’s me to think certain things didn’t happen, better yet the things that did.

    I find myself saying “Wait…that didn’t happen?” lol

    Glad I’m not the only one 😛

  2. I’ve experienced something like this before. It’s like reading a book that you really get in to. You get to know the characters and you start feeling what they feel, seeing what they see. You go with them through tragedy, joy, sorrow, happiness. When they feel love or betrayal, you feel it too. When little Billy finally gets the tricycle he’s been waiting for, you rejoice with him. When Claire’s first and only love, her husband of 60 years passes away, you weep with her. If you’re anything like me, you can feel your heart breaking as you read about the man who knows he’s about to die as panic and chaos surround him on 911. He calls his baby girl for the last time reminding her of his love.
    When you finish a story and get the expected end you were hoping for, you leap off your seat, clap your hands and throw them in the air in excitement. (Or is that just me? How embarrassing. ;p) You’re ecstatic that your character got their “Happily Ever After.”
    And then reality strikes;
    It’s not my story.
    I can lose myself in the pages of someone else’s memories, but they will never be mine. No matter how much I wish they could be, they won’t. That thought sometimes sends me into a, how did you say? Melancholic hysteria. I find myself mourning what I don’t have or who I haven’t met or what I haven’t experienced.
    But… The beautiful thing is I have my whole life ahead of me. I will get to have my own experiences. I will feel my own joys and sorrows. They may seem pale in comparison to some of the stories I’ve read about other people, fictional or not, but they are mine. Precious, sacred, mine.
    Sorry, I get carried away. 🙂 This is just what your post made me think of.
    ~

    • Hmmm…can’t say that I’ve done the dancing thing, 🙂

      The Melancholic Hysteria should definitely be deemed a writerly affliction.

      It’s a shame, how some books read better than our lives. But the problem with a book is it cuts out everything that’s not important to the plot. In real life…well, let’s just say, two-hour car rides, lengthy graduation speeches, and argyle Cosby sweaters? Really? Superfluity, I’m sure, but necessary in some way or another, we can only hope.

      Lives read very much like books if you live them right and are observant.

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