Pagliacci: Collages from the Swedish Tale

August 15, 2016

When everything is gone, memories remain. Snapshots of the moments your soul feeds on. And craves for more. Even when it's over. Because all good things come to an end.

 

Not the craving, though. It's insatiable. It wants more. It wants to suck on your good memories, rip your heart to pieces. Devour it in a few bites of the crazed, starved beast, making you bleed on the inside as you go on with your life with a fake and pathetic smile on your face. Like a clown.

 

Pagliacci.

 

No one sees your tears. No one smells your longing. No one licks your wounds. No one hears you cry.

 

No one picks you up and holds you under your arm as you stumble to take another breath and blink away your blurry sight while you grope for a familiar memory in a very distant future, trying to make it alive. Trying to make it omnipresent. Trying to relive it – now.

 

Except for those who know you, except for those who have shared it with you. The moments, the images, the laughter, the smells, the walks, the ice creams, the sounds, the games, the thoughts, the experiences, the dreams, the feelings, the recollections, the foolishness. Knitting them into collages that will stay with you forever. Those are your people. Your friends.

 

That is the beauty of it. The beauty I will try to share and portray here for you. Because when the words fail, pictures continue to tell our story.

 

Thank you, Växjö, for everything. Really.
 

BJ

 

 

 

 

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      © 2015-2019 By Bernard Jan   |   Author, novelist and poet