Mystery

Some I come across like the rose petals I once placed in an old book. Once cherished, once dear. As I accidentally chance upon them, they remind me of why I had left them there. They are now withered, dry and only a shadow of what they once were. But there lingers a fragrance; I smile as I take the dry petals – ready to fall apart. The very sight evokes thoughts which I like to revisit. I place them back and close the book. I am sure that I’ll come across them again; accidentally, of course. And I’ll still smile – however tattered the book; however dry the petals. The fragrance will live.

Some are like the cookies a Mother places on a shelf, out of reach from her child – well not quite. Tempting thoughts, seething desires. My head puts it on a high shelf; my heart tries to reach. And I’ve to blame my head; why place it out of reach (tempting me to try?) and yet so low (that I will get it, anyway?). At the end of it, you give into your heart – it reaches for the cookie; the very temptation you were trying to avoid. You know you will regret it, but you reach for it anyway. Like the Mother who will feel sad at the disappointment of her child, my head relents to the heart.

Some are like the files you save into the remotest and most random folder in your computer. You furiously click, navigate the various paths and keep it away, hoping that you will forget the way back to it. And yet, you will find yourself, somehow searching it up, revisiting them – although it only gives you pain. Again you move it to another folder – somewhere into the maze that is the system. But never do you Shift+Del. It might reach the Recycle Bin – but you will restore it, anyway. A pain you hold onto.

Memories – Exasperating. Exhilarating. Depressing. Defining.

That’s why they confound me.