Everything Is Just A Memory

         Everything is just a memory. That’s what the graffiti under the bridge I call my second home tells me. Dreams are just memories that haven’t happened yet. That’s what someone who isn’t my real dad, but I view as my father in a strange way, told me. Based on this, you have the roots to my view of reality and a brief explanation of the emotion that has crushed me at every attempt to describe it.

         Everything is just a memory…. What you did today, your first kiss, everything. Its all in the past, as some would say. The past is what exists in our memories, history is the story they tell. We live our lives, and experience every second in its entirety. For whatever reason, the subconscious might exaggerate or block out some parts of an experience, but either way we remember it how our subconscious interoperated it, and the moment its over, it doesn’t exist anymore. Every moment exists for such a short time, the seconds tick away at a torrid rate, and all they are when the next one comes around is memories. It all exists for such a short time that if it was any less it wouldn’t even be real, but just long enough for it to be real goes by and then its gone. Never to be experienced again. It’s only a memory. The event is a memory, its repercussions and consequences are memories, and the scars it leaves or the smiles it brings are nothing but memories.

         Dreams are a strange thing. Not the dreams that you have while you sleep, but the things you hope to turn into memories in your life. Dreams, to me, exist like memories, our minds comprehend them the same way. Instead of being how something went, it’s how you hope it will go. It’s how you hope you will remember it once it’s over. Some dreams, however, are lies. Figments of a hopeful heart. They never happen for some reason, and the dream its self is now a memory.

      No one can say for certain what’s gonna happen to the world, to everything, and everyone.... no one can say for certain what will become of our dreams, if they ever really will be memories. Love exists equally in both realms, memory and dream, extending eternally in both directions, beyond the reach of Armageddon, time, and death. Its everlasting, with no apparent beginning and no end. People die, and we ourselves become memories, but love lives on like a legend.