flipping through the pages i start to ponder if memories are all we have about ourselves...
did i take the time to sit back and reflect on situations or events that are actually bliss or agony in my life or did i just merely cast them aside in my hunger for new adventures...but what have i learnt then????
the stories told mimic the actual shadows of memories I have kept locked up in my mind…never willing or rather intentionally wanting to relive it?...and I kept asking myself why?...am I too happy or satisfied with the way things are?
It does not seem so…
I see him replacing the faces of the characters in the book as I pondered what he would write if he was the author of the book…I never did asked her about her days as it would be too embarrassing…it is something between all of us…it runs in us or maybe just me not to appear sensitive or emotional but how would they feel?...
Is it a good idea for me to ask, am I too selfish to make their memories seem like a treasure concealed in a box and left to rot at the bed of the deepest ocean?....
I cannot bring myself to think about that…all I feel now is that I want to be transported back to the time when I could have changed things…changed the outcome of my ways…but how much could I have change if things that happened now was the reason that shaped my destiny….