I'm a twenty-something citizen of the Moon, weird theatre person, and bonne vivante. I like strawberries and bananas.
This is my stream of consciousness; thoughts, visuals, sounds.
Thank you for visiting. :-)
When you come
Written by: Maya Angelou
When you come to me, unbidden,
To long-ago rooms,
Where memories lie.
Offering me, as to a child, an attic,
Gatherings of days too few.
Baubles of stolen kisses.
Trinkets of borrowed loves.
Trunks of secret words,
Sometimes… the shadows of figures past follow me. In the back of my head, hiding in my brain, attentive and traitorous.
Normally, I don’t give a damn. But there are always periods of my life in which I am more receptive towards certain memories. There exists no desire to go back to them, only simply the nostalgia and melancholy they provoke. These moments of remembrance don’t last very long and, instead of frustrating myself over their existence, I decided once to accept their normalcy and perhaps even the need for them, as much as I don’t want to remember the players involved.
Maybe these shadows have not disappeared because they’re waiting for me to turn them into characters. I’ve always thought that the life lived often provides the best material we can come up with.
(a thought… this reminded me of the play ‘Ghosts’, by Henrik Ibsen.)