Scraps

Scraps

There are small, tiny stories still stuck among the wires and chips of a decomposing computer tower. A few were saved, the bulk allowed to die with the machine itself. Finding scraps of the past is a difficult and trying experience, at times. One's first impulse is always to horde, to hold close these bits and pieces which have passed simply because they manged to float away once. One is them shamed with the compulsion to let go, either of the present in favor of the memory or to rid oneself of the memory in order to keep the present. Lastly, and most irreparably, one attempts to detangle the past event from the person to which it happened. "Yes, that was Me. But, what with the years and the moves and the life in between, it may as well have happened to Anyone else." It seems the only scraps worth keeping are the most surprising upon second inspection, some years or decades later - those that do not resemble the person which one imagined as one's former self.

A little fist lets go of all the colored balloons and lets the wind decide which way they should drift.

#1: 2003
#2: 2000
#3: 2002