there are some memories, some strong memories

there are some memories, some strong memories that make you, you. there are some tastes, some scents, some days when you could look at your finger and recognize it as a part of your self, a definite part of the exact being of what you feel through your existence in the morning, when the spring sun light gently kisses your child face and when the wind touches your hair with an invisible playful hand. you are there, breathing deeply the sweetness of freshly broken ground, of vibrating childhood and laughter, of perhaps ten years old you.

you don't remember much, but what you remember is enough. the blooming apricot tree, with its perfectly round pink crown, gilded by Nature with the scented humming of the bees. it was you there, on the ground, getting ready to climb that tree.

you want to walk foot bare now but all that grass is gone. you want to breath a morning, to feel what a spring morning looks like, but all that smell, all those savoury rewards are gone. to rediscover them would mean to give up everything you are now. and when did you become another you? when did the other you become opressing the actual one? the intercycle that you erased from your mind could be partially blamed for this.

but you don't blame facts or things or you. you don't even long for spring. maybe just for that feeling of green, of fresh air, of safety, of childhood. there are some memories, some strong memories that you can't describe in one word. snapshots of your own being, long time ago. I kept mine, so close, so dearly just so I can soothen the adult sometimes and tell him that you are still here.