What do we have except our memories? The ones we left with that are burnt into our hearts branding us for life.
Painfully sweet reminders of other times, places, dimensions...
Surprisingly bright sparks that light up the past leading cautiously along the half-forgotten corridors, bringing back small irrelevant details, colors, sounds, faces. It's like revisiting after many years an old and vaguely familiar town, retracing your own steps. Once a part of an everyday routine it looks deceivingly homely and foreign at the same time.
What do we see? A moment in time with ourselves divided between past and present that are moving further apart. A moment to bridge this divide, to grasp the distance, change, to feel again the joy of coming back and inevitable sorrow of leaving.
This trip that we keep making, revolving door between the points in time connected in multitude of ways with the common denominator - us.
What are they? Our comfort or curse, in softer shades or painfully sharp angles, soothing or excruciating, or maybe a forcibly mixed contradiction of both. Palette is overextended beyond any color or sound, flavor or fragrance.
In one of the days all tracks of time will be lost, leaving this endless labyrinth to wonder alone with sound of long-forgotten music burning ears, in search of something that can't be yet formulated, a constant reminder evoking from a long hibernation emotions so strangely native to the soul.
Dreams are so clearly argumented competing with the light of day, fighting for attention, replacing the reality with the arrogance of a newcomer.
What a confusion, memories as an amalgam of life and dreams...