In Memories

When I was but a little girl, I thought,
what if I did not want it to be the last, but you did?

Nee, did you manage to hear my voice?
That time, when you asked.
What did you think of?

But you know, this time, if our paths ever cross each other again,
I would always take it as my last,
and whatever you want it to be,
it's fine.


This is ridiculous,
people tell me that.
But that's fine too,
for you are mine,
in my memories.

Funny

It's very funny, how our mind works, that it is not about the concept, not the truth, but the belief.

How dangerous, our mind,
why, doesn't it mean it is very easy for you to be deceived?

But then, again, it's very funny, how this mind trick works, because it is not about the maleficent, nor the defrauders,
but us.

Us, who strongly believed this was what we wanted.
Us, who wrongly estimated our own capability, to deal with, not the impossible, but the pricking thorns.
And, perhaps, me, who in the end, doubt herself.

It is such a pity,
when a carefully-arranged bouquet, thrown to the trash,
in a second, when you decide you don't want it anymore.
Withered, shrivelled,
but still, a pity,
to think that for a moment, a florist carefully crafted the cut flowers, trying out different looks, feels,
hoping that it would bring a momentary joy to someone precious.

After all this time, though that is just how it is, it is still hard to believe,
that once you don't believe it anymore, everything changes.
From day to night, light to dark, love to hate.

You poor soul, ma petite chérie. Courage, réjouis-toi!


Thereby,
just like your scent,
memories, swayed by the wind of time.