rs-forever's Diaryland Diary

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I want to write again

I want to write again. I want to remember little memories from my childhood. I want to remember every little memory with Ryan. I want to put them away someplace safe, so that when I am old and senile, I can look at these memories and remember them once again. It would be like living life again, adding color to faded pictures, adding motion to still life.

But... am I becoming emotionless? Am I becoming sedated by monotony I have wrapped around myself, by working way too hard? Am I forgetting Bombay?

I cannot forget Bombay. I must not. I am afraid I don't even know how to start remembering.

I have a picture of Simba that my Mom sent to me. It was taken early one winter morning, with an old fashioned camera with a reel. I did not get the settings right. The picture is blurry. I can see Simba sitting on a mound of unmade concrete sand. I can see her basking in the golden winter sun. I cannot see her face or her eyes. I cannot see if she is happy. I am afraid of my memories becoming like that picture. Thankfully, I have Simba so safely put away in my memories, it will take more than a busy job to forget her. She is with me when I walk by myself through the woods, along a path with autumn leaves that rustle under my feet. She always, always will be. That is just how she was. That is just how much I loved her.

8:52 a.m. - 2011-12-20

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I want to write again

I want to write again. I want to remember little memories from my childhood. I want to remember every little memory with Ryan. I want to put them away someplace safe, so that when I am old and senile, I can look at these memories and remember them once again. It would be like living life again, adding color to faded pictures, adding motion to still life.

But... am I becoming emotionless? Am I becoming sedated by monotony I have wrapped around myself, by working way too hard? Am I forgetting Bombay?

I cannot forget Bombay. I must not. I am afraid I don't even know how to start remembering.

I have a picture of Simba that my Mom sent to me. It was taken early one winter morning, with an old fashioned camera with a reel. I did not get the settings right. The picture is blurry. I can see Simba sitting on a mound of unmade concrete sand. I can see her basking in the golden winter sun. I cannot see her face or her eyes. I cannot see if she is happy. I am afraid of my memories becoming like that picture. Thankfully, I have Simba so safely put away in my memories, it will take more than a busy job to forget her. She is with me when I walk by myself through the woods, along a path with autumn leaves that rustle under my feet. She always, always will be. That is just how she was. That is just how much I loved her.

8:52 a.m. - 2011-12-20

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