Emptiness

I must really concentrate on quieting my mind. At any given moment, I fear the words that want to become stories will collide, and my mind will say goodbye. Is there such a thing as too much memory? I believe all of us like the memories we have stored away, bringing them to life when we are feeling low or sad, or when we think of people once in our lives who are now gone forever. We use our memories to go back to happy times that will never again be real. The bad memories must surface now and again just to remind us that life is full of both bad and good. It is so difficult for me to stop all of them as they have grown to be in the hundreds, maybe more.

     I have noticed that some of my memories are becoming fuzzy as of late. What was once bright and vivid, now run around in there, making it difficult for me to catch them and re-live the moments. It scares me to know that the day will come when I may forget all the memories. The words won't come, and the pages I once filled with stories, will remain blank. I will weep that day, the day the stories die.  I have hundreds and hundreds of pages filled with wit, humor, compassion, and love. I will take the time I need to read all those pages once more before taking off my reading glasses and sinking into the darkness of a writer who once was.

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