Memories are distant and impulsive things. Tom, I remember your basement. I remember spending the night there and working on a fort in the woods. I remember riding bikes and attempting to ride down a plank from the barn, where I fell and my feelings of nervousness were valid.
I remember the musty smell of the basement but also the feeling of slight comfort knowing your family was wealthy by comparison. I know others badmouthed you sometimes but I was fine.
I remember the pool, which I found lavish and completely out of reach for me, and how sliding down the slide was exhilarating, at least until I hit the dry patch and felt the burn of the summer heat.
Memory will eat all of us. We live in that space, with what ifs and possibilities control our minds. There’s a billion of them, full of regret and joy that we with to return to.
A Simple Post 