When all is calm and the night is black… still frames, relentlessly coming back to my mind, the colours washing away. It is as though every time I remember an image, I use it, details getting lost over time. In the hustle of the day, there is not enough time to notice the constantly growing lack of detail, but on a black surface, with my focus entirely on that particular image, the holes become visible, eating each picture up from the inside until it gradually fades into the black backdrop, indistinguishable from its environment. Arson or nostalgia, those seem to be the choices. To let it all go up in flames would be to speed up the process of decay. Decay which is, it seems to me, not inherently bad. Burning that which seems so pushed back into the corners of our minds that all it does is collect dust as the substance of any particular memory fades away… it now seems like a welcome purge. To make space for something new, to clean up my mind, to rid it of all the insufferable additions of trivial moments that overlap until opacity takes over and clarity seems a far-fetched dream… it seems desirable to me now. A clear mind, a clean slate, a new page… it seems almost palpable now.

To feel restless is to strive forward. To unnecessarily hold on to a long gone past is to be chained to a spot already all too familiar. I won’t deprive myself of progress, won’t let happenstance of times past bar a future from taking form in a robe I haven’t seen it wear before.

The smoke gets thicker, it creates an opaque wall. But then:

As the smoke subsides, and embers are carried away by the wind, the path clears up. The hindrances that were, they are no more.

All that is left to do is to walk.

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