the geometry of a memory

We are all bluster and unseasonably warm days until suddenly, Oh!, winter is upon us; I ignore my climate until I look outside and all is quiet, the unexpected house guest suddenly arrived and poised, a brief greeting and then stillness. And we don’t worry about what comes next, too engulfed in the memories of last year, and the year before, and, Oh!, what a strange thing deja vu is when it’s entirely expected and yet still enthrallingly alien. My smile is as broad and silent as the plains of snow.

Because what is life, really, but summations? The addition of a thousand little pieces and memories crammed together like puzzle pieces misaligned by some well-meaning child to form a tableau both unspeakably strange and yet strangely familiar. And we don’t worry about what comes next, busily examining this piece even while we are slightly suspicious of the fact that the last time we saw it it was abutted to some other memory. Familiar, and yet…

And so we witness things coming full circle (how many dimensions does your memory work in?), and I prefer squares, thank you, the interlocking bits that are context shaved off of my puzzle pieces to leave nothing but the soul of expression, unadulterated. So that we don’t have to worry about what comes next.

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