Have you ever had a memory that you just weren't sure about? Where the memory seems so separate from you, how can it possibly be *your* memory? A memory so crystal clear in the visual detail, suggestive of emotions you can no longer grasp, but real as rock? Where you doubt yourself? You ask, perhaps that was a dream? Perhaps this memory doesn't belong to me? If it was mine, is it wrong for me to *keep* it? Do you ever feel like a voyeur of your own life?
Ever have a memory as real as it is elusive? A memory like a square peg and no matter how many times your mind turns it over again and again and again, it never seems to fit? A memory that's as noteworthy for how it makes you feel as for how unreal it seems? Like you're seeing through alien eyes? Here's mine, called to mind by circumstance and unleashed of it's own will:
Sitting on a plane, left side, window seat (peering out at the concourse, of course. While the pretty lady explains how buckles work). Standoffish yellow lights outside. Large window where folks are warm inside. The Terminal. Watching. December--probably?
Outside I stare. Important people going places, some hand in hand. Twinkling lights unfurled for the season or some reason beyond recall. Where I'm not, hot-glowing tree is like a brand. Lazy-fat snowflakes fall. White blots fill the air.
And I feel. content. Happy. satisfied. Certain of the future. Me? Is this just the way: Snowblots; trees; brands; people; cold; lights; rolled-out; season. Makes one feel?
Or was this ever real?
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