What survives the time?
There is always something that is saved from the storm of pain that has permeated the air and walls, which acquires its own serenity. Something that saves you from oblivion. A piece of home, of intimacy. A peak reached to be contemplated from another angle. A narrow space of time that saw us helmsmen ready to orient the ship's keel without being satisfied with making it float. A tune with long notes to hum in moments of nostalgia. The light of a window lit in the evening that cloaks the indistinct space and continues to reassure us, reminding us of the place that saw us happy. A non-place of light-heartedness that expands in the imaginative waves of our mind and survives time.
A love does not enter and exit the soul like a puff of smoke. A story does not lose its reason for being. It relives in the solidity of the small details embedded in the visual composition of memories. In all that is permanently fixed somewhere within us. In the colors of a snapshot recorded by the eyes that we occasionally try to refocus. In the dense and throbbing juice of the sensations that survive forced removals, they awaken any day and appear inexplicably strengthened. In the ink drawings full of erasures and smudges of our mistakes. In the irrational eruption into the monotonous flow of the days of a thought or an image that immediately brings us back and makes us wince. In the dazzling manifestation of the dotted figure of someone we have loved who, at times, we superimpose on a stranger, believing we recognize him.
- What remains then? - I wondered several times, continuously.
The vibration remains to witness what we have experienced on our skin, to touch the deepest chords unexpectedly. The body does not forget. There remains the shadow of a love that never disappears completely.
Inside us, the echo hovers. So inside me, your memory remains not plundered by the continuous current of days. Relive intact in the invisible real of my mind. In the sharp contrasts of still images that do not fade with time. In the chaotic alternation of the clips of our dialogues. In the suspensions of the unspoken. In the clear net of words that have pierced the barriers of our rigid closures. In the muffled silences. In the prolonged apnea of ​​a total immersion in the high waves of emotions. In the grafting of an encounter whose roots cannot be eradicated by the advance of existence. In the spontaneity of gestures hidden from the gaze of strangers. In the verses intertwined in the musical score of our love. In the interlude between the beginning and the end of a story, the authenticity of a love remains. The time of that love within us.

3 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. ecohorizons
    Nov 13, 2021 @ 13:53:35

    I feel like the book called the power of now has sparked your imagination to write and post …
    All the best …


  2. ecohorizons
    Nov 13, 2021 @ 13:55:32

    Everything is but a fleeting shadow except the light , love and presence of the divine…


  3. abvr
    Nov 15, 2021 @ 10:25:49

    Beautiful interlude
    Magical and melodious
    breathing spaces
    in the album of life.


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