Has this ever happened to you: you revisit a place, and as your eyes roam the physical structures of that place, your mind is reviewing the unique memories you have had there before? Whether or not there was someone with you or not when it happened, they didn’t experience it the way you did; their minds’ eye cannot see what you see; they will never feel what you feel.
This happens to me a lot.
I might be riding in a car with someone, and we drive past a building, a park, a fountain. I’ve been there before.
But I say nothing.
I keep these memories close. I ponder them in my heart. I let the little vignettes play on in my head. I bask in their afterglow.
For some reason, it gives me a weird satisfaction. “I was here before. I remember these stairs attached to the outside of the building, and how I felt as I climbed them, three stories high. I can still hear the ringing of my steps on the metal. I remember dropping a penny and hearing it fall to the pavement below.”
You can’t possibly record every memory, or share them all with another person. But you can go back to these places sometimes…all by yourself.
Very nice post. I have had this happen to me, and as you say, you can't share all this stuff, or possibly convey how it felt to you. Sometimes I try anyway, but realize it's futile. So I ponder these litle moments, these little sensory experiences that played out at these places, cherishing them. Isn't it weird when you realize how very alone we really are, each of us inside our own heads?
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