It has been around about seven months since I've posted anything here and I'm sorry about that. I haven't written anything in a while and that's partly because I've had some big changes in my life, namely starting university and partly because of writers block. But inspiration struck and I wrote this. I hope you enjoy.
A Puff of Memory Gives You Cancer
Memory is smoke.
Intangible, lingering, drifting.
And then it dissipates into the night air.
Memory is inhaled in puffs.
Soothing, satisfying, calming.
Saturating the brain.
Watch the years billow out before your eyes.
A little cloud.
An essence of bluish grey.
The monotonous methodical moments.
And then a glowing ember,
Love, or fervency, or rage
A reverie that smoulders.
Yet even as the memories fade away,
Consumed by the chill evening,
In the light of the setting sun.
The desire to be remembered,
The longing for fame,
Progresses and grows.
Spreading through the nooks and hidden corners of the mind.
The dark passages and secrets alleys of consciousness.
Until it culminates as an action.
As a song or a scientific theory or a murder.
A feat to shelter your identity from the eroding patience of time.
An identity is a vibration.
A sequence of sounds that is labelled a name.
Specifically a vibration is how we share our identities with others.
And like smoke,
It lingers for a while
And eventually we dissipate.
But it’s still worthwhile to watch the patterns in the smoke
And see the shapes in the clouds.