All Memories Have a Tinge of Bad

I’ve had a couple of bad days.

– Why?

Remembering and socializing with…

– With whom?

People.

– A party?

A wake and a funeral.

– Oh.

It was bittersweet. It felt good to be with…

– Sorry for your loss.

Some deaths are everyone’s loss. And afterwards, being alone, reflecting, writing…traveling to the past. You know, memories.

– Bad memories?

All memories have a tinge of bad to them.

– Or sadness, I guess.

Yes. Like mold on the edge of a slice of bread.

– Bread hardly ever gets moldy these days.

I’m thinking of fresh bread baked by a baker before dawn, not manufactured…

– Is that what memories are to you?

Good question.

– Thanks.

And good point before.

– All memories have a bit of bad and a tinge of sadness to them.

Especially when you come face to face with what you think and feel.

– Huh?

Like many, I never know what I think until I write it. But especially for me, I never know what I feel until I write it.

– Is that a bad thing?

It’s a hard thing. It hurts.

– A human thing?

Yes.

– A necessary thing.

I guess.

– “The unexamined life is…”

“… not worth living.” Socrates.

– Thought it was Plato…but no, you’re right, Socrates said it. Plato wrote it down.

Writing…so many threads of thought present themselves…so many to grab hold of…so many to weave into words…

– Stop complaining, you blessed creature.

Thank you.

– Show me what you wrote.

I really wrote it for myself.

– Did you, really?