Trampled Underfoot

Often when I find myself alone, and in blissful silence I do like to have a good old rummage through the drawers of my mind. Very occasionally I unearth long lost fragments of memory that sort of pop out from some cranial nook and wish me a happy day before darting off someplace else to hide.

Fortunately I managed to grab a hold on one segment before it could vanish, I held it up against the light and examined it from each and every angle. It was a snip of memory, a tiny loop of video that kept playing and replaying itself.

It was of a place long forgotten, green grass, hazy sunshine, a notepad and a young girl who was asking me to hold a pose while she sketched me, just a young child, one of many in this play area.

When she finished the sketch she showed me it and I gazed upon it in open mouthed amazement.

I didn't know people could draw that well.

Then it looped and played again, and as hard as I looked, I couldn't see any faces, just her with her notepad, the other children laughing and playing, and me, stood there awkwardly.

Then I let it go, and off it went back into my filing system. And I watched as it flew away.

And I realised that we never really forget anything do we? Every day of our lives is stored on our hard drives, and we can either pull out snippets of memory to enjoy, or just kick back and enjoy the constant slideshow that is always playing in the background.

Such a huge amount of memory that one day will dissipate as my brain liquifies and is flushed down some autopsy drain, me, my memories and my whole life just trampled underfoot.