Bathtub Conversion To Shower Las Vegas

memory and forgetting

I chose these pictures of Kelly Haigh because these are the sweetness and horror in equal measure, as in the memory, pain and unrequited love.

An excellent graffiti said: "the forgotten memory is full."

Sometimes some memories are mixed with others, or are packed with old meanings that perhaps no longer in force, or appear in s times less desirable and less expected. The reports do not care that you do not wish their presence or their company. How many of those memories are lies? Things went building over the years, and garnish with the indiscriminate accumulation of experiences absurd, empty and banal .. Some of them seem laughable now, but had a tiny moment, perhaps, a weight that we destroyed the heart. How many forms has a broken heart? I do not know, I've found some, but I think that hurt me most were two:

1. When my heart broke into pieces, in the most brutal and merciless. A direct and unavoidable attack. A surprise attack, literally, in the middle of the night. The bomb was dropped from a height so close that there was no escape. Zooom woke up with a telephone and a message saying you are the worst thing that has happened in life. Barely three days before it flooded love everything, especially the corners and losses of a nonexistent relationship, which is maintained by a random chance of fate. The noise lasted for almost a year and I take longer to recover their sight and hearing.

2. One day I realized I lacked the heart. Absurd, I know. But one day I saw in my chest and felt a horrible hole, a great void that was beginning to fill with anguish. I did not realize that he had lost her fainting was so gradual. One day he broke a piece, another day is diluted another, one day one of the pieces lay like a mound of sand under my feet. Ever stepped on a puddle of blood that stained the floor and left marks on the carpet, cleaned everything and went on living as usual. Finally disappeared. I have not noticed his absence . A hundred pills later I was puking my miserable existence accompanied by a buzz of trains. Everything was in my head, all that seemed to work without heart, but quite wrong.

And now I try to remember something of the past, everything has become one. Not distinguish one face from another, a voice from another, a look of another. All eyes, all words, the Team and humiliation are all the same. Nothing is held at the time, everything falls apart under the relentless pace. Everything is foggy and the worst thing is that it also has lost some of its charm. Pain and pleasure are one thing, I no longer recognize the cries or praise them. It seems something experienced by someone else.

Life ends
It is not a continuum
But more like a patchwork quilt.

Some patches are days,
others, months.
Some are undistinguished years.

Some patches are just lost,
or forgotten.
Every so often I find a thread of a memory
dangling.

I found a trace of those years when I was in love,
some time ago.
Then I lost them again.

I guess I used to love you, that thread said.
Can't remember you now.
That face mingled with others' faces.

Some stitches try holding your pieces together,
yet I have forgotten you.
All of You.

And I have forgotten me too.