The press of remembrance

I feel memories like an indentation, a pressing into or inside the flesh, a coagulation of associations, the smell of a strawberry candle, the sound of pigeon’s cooing, the journey into brown eyes, and always waves, or water of some kind, the splash of it, the smell of old upholstery in a recreation hall, the lift of pleasure, the descent of despair.

Scientists say that the organs in the body have their own internal memory, so do they look back on themselves over time, their workings, their trials, the impetus they began with? And what part of the body remembers love? Not necessarily the heart, although the memory does seem to reside behind the chest, perhaps in the lungs, in our very breathing, in our eyes, having taken in everything when now the image memory fades and we feel it dissolving, the press allieviating, our breath coming easier now.

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3 comments

  1. Alison, you just brought a wealth of memories back to me! Especially with “the smell of a strawberry candle” – I won’t go into detail, but the smell, the taste, the feel of strawberries, has much to do with “my first time”, ‘nough said. 🙂

    I love the idea of memories residing in our very breathing – so true, but who else could express that in such beautiful imagery – no one.

    I apologize for having taken so long to approve your comment on the award post – I was catching up on much needed sleep, but no more pitiful excuses. The good thing is I only have to approve an author once, so you won’t have to wait again. Thank You again for the beauty of your words!

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