Little by little, the "texture" of the many memories that once furnished my mind is fading away. They no longer exist—not because I have erased them, but because they are no longer the same as they were when they first became my memories.
It is like taking a photograph of a child. If you continue to see that child, the picture becomes a video that follows their development. But if you stop following that child’s adventure through life at some point, the video becomes a static image, frozen on the last shot. This is what gets stored in your memory.
If you happen to meet the child again, he has become someone else, and something cringes deep inside. The memory is reset, yet the shadow of the previous one remains—at least for a while, until the new reality becomes your new inner choreography, building a fresh memory.
At the moment, I am not renewing all that is fading away because I don't have the opportunity to create a new bond. I am simply watching the old float away into the sky, exactly like a red balloon disappearing into the clouds.
As soon as I managed to get over the unsettling feeling created by the discrepancy between the old and the new reality, I felt light—as if I were that red balloon floating high into a new, faraway reality. Perhaps not even belonging to this world anymore!
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