Why write

A few nights back J, the lawyer-babe who mixes a mean cocktail commented that she doesn't write because she prefers to keep everything in her head; words are simply insufficient to capture her thoughts.

And if certain memories hurt you, why write about them at all - why leave a trail behind that might remind you one day?

Does writing give you a catharsis, she asked.

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It is important to mourn; important to remember.
Important to write, to cry, to speak and to be heard.

These are the ways we do justice to our memories.

It is right to struggle to remember, againt each passing day as time and life wear us down - it is right, to write, to help us in the future as sensescence claims our memories a day at a time.

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Writing doesn't make me feel better. It offers no solace, no shelter. It gives me no catharsis. The things I write about, when they mean anything significant, are the passage of love, of goodness, of happiness, and even of friends.

It just feels right, to write.

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I took a photo of myself today. It's a rare day when it happens, I hate being taken, no idea why.

Only today I was in my new uniform (which I still have almost no idea how to put on properly) and it bore a passing resemblance to a policeman's outfit, and I remembered how much the ex likes policemen.

I won't write it; perhaps in the future I won't even remember the thought that just crossed my mind.

Anyway, I remembered another time when I was in uniform, and I thought nothing of snapping my photo and sending it to her.

Today I took the photo on a whim, and strangely looked fairly decent in the first (and only) shot.

And then it took me another few hours, before I sent it.

That's what time does. It makes things... difficult.

Each passing day another cinder falls from the bridges that we have burnt, and one day nothing will remain of our memory, in our memories.

That's just the way it goes.

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....et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris