our lives are but recurrences of our memories and our memories are the future of thoughts and events and touches that we refuse to let go. that we refuse to bury under a heap of dirt. And even if we do, we plant a sapling. We say we know it's not gonna live.. but we water it every day.. and we are wary of the birds that pluck at it. We are wary of strangers that might trample it... And when on a sunny morning, a yellow flower blooms we relive the pain of what was buried.
Words are Light... Images are Objects... Thoughts are Shadows...