Graveyard of My Dead Memories

In the middle of my crosses, it’s so cold and misty. I’m all alone. It’s a field of death, the death of all my happiness. A happiness I do not even know.

I can see the crosses of many dead memories; For a moment, I feel I can read it all. But then I stop. They’re all so old and blurry, and my eyes are tired…

I touch one. For a second, I just feel it was a happy memory… of someone long forgotten. But then it’s gone, as I pluck and remove each and every single blurry cross. Somehow, it’s not me who’s doing it. But I can’t stop. It’s all I know to do now. Without it, what would I do? I cannot rest, as the more, I pluck, the more they grow.

So I close my eyes, and touch the broken letters on the cross. It’s cold and rainy. The rain falls on my fingers and touches me gently. This touch is so familiar… I feel it will all my trembling being. I longed for it in all those long nights of wandering through the graveyard of my happiness. The touch continues, and happiness calls my name, from deep down my core. I can also hear it in the wind that tries to cuddle. I don’t know, so I wait; but with every beat of my heart, I know more.

Suddenly, I realize: it’s not rain…It’s not. I know it. So I open my eyes, and I see; a smile meets me at the end of my sight. It’s a smile so beautiful, that I realize only one smile can be so. The brave smile who took the long road of love… the smile who was my everything.

My eyes hurry to wipe the swirling tears… My brain is bombarding my heart with long-forgotten joy… Now I know. It’s you, my love!  It’s you. You were always here. You never left my side…

I rush to hug you tight, but you’re so wet and slippery…you fall down, and I can’t reach you… A sad mist is covering my sight, and I can’t even see where you’ve fallen…

Who are you, anyway…? why did I pluck you from this field of old crosses, just like you…


  • dementia wants to hire you to pluck the memories of your loved ones. don’t apply for this job. prevent it now.



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