Ideas of Heaven
A suspension of mercy
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Memories are like stones, time and distance erode them like acid.
* Ugo Betti, Goat Island
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Ten things she forgot.
1. What his face looked like.
2. What the sun felt like.
3. The color of the sheets.
4. Where she first came.
5. Why she was so naive.
6. The faces of her parents.
7. Why did it rain?
8. How long it had been.
9. How much time passed?
10. Why did time pass.
Ten things she remembered.
1. His laugh.
3. His smile.
4. His fingers tracing his skin.
5. Her brother once had freckles.
6. The taste of blood.
7. Flowers, so many flowers.
8. That room.
9. The smell of books.
10. Love.
One thing she' s sure of.
1. Her name; Didyme.
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I have countless bound books full of sketches and my writing. I have drawings of a man with a misanthropic smile and hair falling in his eyes. He has freckles dotting his face, and his eyes seem to dance. I don't know who he is.
At night, I dream. I dream often of fingers tracing up my arm. I dream of faces. There is always one, though, which I can never recall to my mind in the morning. He seems very important, and I wish I could remember him. But I wanted to, I wanted to so badly.
I could see everything so clearly when I closed my eyes, though. It was like another world, another life, was etched into the back of my eye lids. A world I was never meant to have, again. Maybe I'm insane, that's perfectly plausible. Maybe I did once live that "life". I don't know. Maybe I did know that man who use to have freckles, and the one I can't see his face. Maybe the women who's faces I love would know mine also. Those people who I have seen the softer side off, and heard their laughs. But I don't believe I will have the joy of making them laugh again. And I won't hear the ring of his laugh that still echoes softly through my ears, and I don't know who he is, but I want to. I want to.
I want to.
But I don't think I ever will.