Alles gebeurd in Oktober

(Blof - Van Veraf was het zo mooi)

Some days, you clean up some of the mess that has accumulated over the years/months/weeks. And it is those moment that memories return. That pinpoint again the mental scars and good moments that were lost in thought. That is because my computer is my diary, a photo diary of my life. This time it has a little different meaning. As this time, unlike the others I have to chose what to take with me. And what to leave behind.

Perhaps I have a different view in this as most people. I don't forget people, I remember them, their good parts and their bad. And enjoy that upon on seeing them again, I get to meet them again. And so I guess that many people have not the slightest idea of how profound their influence still is to this day in my life. And it pains me to see that some of these people still think or re-think I am superficial. As if my depth was but a rare occasion of me, rather than a rare window inside the deepest of my soul.  

Everything always changes in October

Do you know that feeling? That feeling that memories have turned from 'I know this happened' to 'did this really happen?'. That feelings of things have faded so far, never returning, that they seem no more than fantasies? With bad feelings we call this 'putting things behind us'. But I don't know if we have a expression for the disbelief of good memories. 

And so we are stuck with pictures, pictures of ourselves, of others. Into which we read their emotions, in which we read our emotions. And we know that the expressions are true, but the looks seem nothing more than actors from a good movie. Their scenes cut away from the final cut. Creating cuts that are un-mendable .

I've gotten to a point, where I begin to accept that certain parts of October's begone. Cannot be fixed by myself, nor a professional. Because some pictures, are just good, and nothing else. And nothing needs fixing, as it didn't need cutting.

And so I continue cleaning my desktop, archiving old folders. Removing thumbnails, shelving the past. Writing words on paper that will never matter, that will not change the world for the better. Words that don't change people, not inspire people, and that in the end nothing really matters. Nothing really matters...