Sometimes I want to pick up the phone and call and ask questions.
call people who do not feel and ask "Do you remember that day? What had really happened? And that time? What do you think? And when ...?"
I have a pretty good memory, sometimes even very good. But the memory, you know, is not something fixed. The
memories fade slowly, and we renovate them as we can, as they were old houses.
I do not speak of "false memories", but of those "real", those who keep in mind, thinking they are the faithful portrait of some reality.
Sometimes I get confused. Sometimes I think about something, and I wonder if what I have is a true memory or something to patch up the moment began to fade.
So I would always talk, talk. Ask. To hear the other version, I heard what happened and what is not, and when and how.
And what was the air that day, and if the bus was crowded, and if it was myrtle liquor, and if you were in the hands of crackers, and if the carpet was dark blue, and if and if and if.
There are few constants in my life. A few people left in time.
Sometimes wonder, wonder, remember. When possible, I do. Usually I get surprised faces, and "how do you remember?" I had forgotten ...".
It remains as a sense of incompleteness, when memories and doubts emerge about someone who for various reasons and I can not have any on hand, or even sub-item (in the sense not to scream, questions, that is not out of anger, but almost only ever need to know).
I suppose that sooner or later will diminish. Probably when my memory falters to the point of not being able to remember who to ask something.
At that point, however, I do not know nemmeno chi o cosa sarò io, probabilmente.
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