Memory Night This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

June 28, 2011
It’s odd.

There’s one memory burned into the back of my mind.

The kind that only crops up on late nights when the only sounds that fill the air are the tap-tapping of my idle keyboard and the illustrious calls of the hoot owl from down the road.

It’s the sort of memory that one does not remember consciously, but rather, it floats down on gentle wings, coming to rest on the shoulder. And it whispers its soft reminisces in your ear and all at once you want to laugh and cry. Like the gentle strumming of an acoustic guitar, its sound envelopes you, and makes even out-of-tune memoires sound beautiful in their own way.

It’s been a long time since then.
I’ve given up on counting the months, weeks, days, hours... however time passes for you, it passes in double time for me. But I know that it did happen then, and at the time it didn’t seem too significant.

It was a night, like this one and the sounds were the same, save muffled sobs that broke the sheet of silence. Though if one’s not careful, those sounds too, return.

How odd it is to think back on the past and realize that it’s gone.

And perhaps, that’s what makes it worth it in its own prickly way.

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