In your head, do you have a library of moments from another day?
Gave away the bigger piece of grilled chicken, wiped your hands on your shorts and looked away smiling. Didn’t bother to brush your teeth, had soda to wash your face and sipped chai from the same cup. A story where a campfire burned your fingers, group hugs were tight and the next morning was cold under a tent.
The movie sucked, the air conditioner smelled funny and the popcorn was loud. The music was deafening, seats were hard and the floor was dirty. The hero was handsome, the story was lame and you forgot what happened in the end. Holding hands, thinking of nothing, laughing at the ads.
Drove over the curb, parked in the wrong spot, let the engine run. Played the same playlist, feet on the dashboard, peanut skin in your hair. Windows were down, wind was around, and people weren’t. Pushed back the seat, dropped your drink, found a coin.
The dates are forgotten. The adaptive value of some moments, never. Within its purview, the mind decided to keep a few of them and erased the date tags.
You would have forgotten the moments too if it didn’t matter. But a piece of sky from another day extends over to this day. Along with it a portal to another time. A time from a decade ago, or a year. May be a day from a bygone week. Like a fridge magnet. Stuck on the memory wall.
It could have been in June or in the middle of July. When the days were hot and the nights were tepid. It could have been at the bottom of November. Or no time in particular in April.
Such moments are always alone. There aren’t many of them in one bunch. If they were alike, you wouldn’t remember them. Just the moments. Not always the date. But if you do remember that too, it’s because you wrote it on the other side of the fridge magnet.
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