universo de memorias

Reads: 10  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: September 03, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 03, 2018

A A A

A A A


The Universe of Memories was under construction evrey time I came to visit. This made me increasingly curious, if not frustated and desperate. What could possibly be lurking beyond the ancient walls and stain glassed windows? One night, beyond the better judgement of my sane decives, I decided to break in. I was not and will never be prepared for what I witnessed. 

 

Hard at work, swirilng light remolded both nature and artifcat. A weathering that compressed hundreds of lives in an instant. A stone orginally beached in an Atlantic island but handled, passed, and displaced by every great wave or hand to meeet it, held endless sights and secrets. Swirling light sanded stone to sadness. A mid 18th century napkin with an embroidered silk rose smoother than that it imitated, had been spun in the name of cleaning so many times its roots were fading. In the hazy glow of midnight work, I caught the light off guard and stole these sinking souls and ran off heaving. 

 

I begged the stone and napkin for forgiveness, though it should not be my pleading and they hushed me. Wiser than me, I let them speak. 

 

I was once a stone skipped and stepped to roundness 

Thank you for the warmth of your hands, the thrill of the wind 

Water from your eyelids. 

 

My child, you're bleeding. Use me to clean you, please. 

My fiber asks to be redeemed. Make me feel at ease. 

I served on many tables and laps before you found me. 

 

What was happening in there? 

 

Let me tell you of despair. 

Every time someone picked me up, I became something else. 

Yet, if they did not come, I ceased to be at all. 

It was either hands of men or hands of time, neither were soft with me. 

When the spinning light came, it promised I'll make you, you again.

I had forgotten there was such a thing, and so I let her in. 

 

I was woven once and I remember every stitch. 

I remember every touch that met my skin.. 

I let her in to forget. 

The thing with the light is

She knows just what you want to hear. 

Ask her what she's doing here. 

 

What are you doing here? 

 

I came to set them free. 

Memories think I came for them but truly they begged for me. 

In the abyss where they lie and sleep and dream, 

choirs of remembering buckling at the knees. 

I came to set them free. 

I came as an answer-- 

the only one that cared-- 

to look them in their face, 

to listen to their fates. 

I came to set them free. 


© Copyright 2018 thalia morales. All rights reserved.