A Memory With No End

One of my earliest memories takes place roughly around this time, only a long time ago. Several years, I don't know exactly how long it was. But I do know that it's been long enough, since every time I think about it(which isn't particularly often) I imagine I look like an obscure artist's faded sketch of an elderly woman reminiscing about the past.

This memory of mine, and I am knowingly being biased here, carries the essence of Fall better than any candle, photo, or even the Fall season itself. Adults watch their children run and play, and talk to other parents about how impressive it is, how much stamina children have. I was a rambunctious child in general, but at the speed I was running, you could quite clearly tell I was in a hurry. I wasn't so hasty due to concerning emergencies or strict "mission-like" urgency; it was the perfect time of day where the sun lay low on the horizon, temporary but beautiful lengths of orange and red stretching as far as the human eye could see.

I wasn't hasty because I was worried, but simply out of childish "giddiness".

Maybe ten or eleven minutes from home, the giant tree came to view, and the friend sitting right below it. I cried out with excitement as I neared where they sat, waving a hand over my head frantically. Without warning or worry, I bolted right towards them and had no guilt in crashing into them, knocking us both to the ground. I was exhausted from being on my feet and had no intention of getting back up. Besides, the grass I lied on was pleasant enough unlike the kind that pricks you through your clothing as though out of spite for crushing it with your filthy shoes.

"Ow..." I imagine is what broke out from our laughter.

This friend and I were a confusing pair. At least, that's what I imagine it looked like to everyone else.

At times, we lived up to be like a certain way and blend in effortlessly with our young crowd, and at others we were like two myrtles in an empty field of grass surrounding a park. Not a part of any sort of crowd, nor in between, and blissfully indifferent to that belief. But for the sake of our pride as children of then, I'll say "fact".

But what were we doing?

Well, despite the world kindly giving us a picture-perfect scenery, our individual worlds were painted in a much more dreary way. Lying on the lush green grass, staring up through the top of the tree to the streaky clouds above, we shared every color we saw just an hour before: Blues, greys, all muted like everything else.

For a moment, it was like a flickering light finally letting go.

The red of the trees leaves showed a new color, which was no color at all, but simply shaded to blend in with the monotonous sky, sea, and the person beside me.

Time seemed to have stopped for an indefinite time. No river flowed. No breeze blew. Nor did a single autumn leaf dare to dance. Harsh as it is, it felt stupid. It truly did feel like I was in some colorless carnival; something was "off" and "it" didn't even care to disguise itself as some mystery! I could very much identify the problem, as we should all know or at least envision a carnival that glows! String lights stretching beyond what you can tell, with absurd patterns and this and thats displayed wherever! And yes, maybe the reputation of a carnival has fallen with so many calling it "creepy" or a "basic horror idea", but you cannot deny that a carnival is a unique place which protects a certain freedom.

But interestingly enough, in the former world that I mentioned prior (I'll call it the "comically tragic place") I could see that the person beside me shared every thought.

One shared look and a prolonged second to close our eyes.

When we returned to the "real world", we left our roles as myrtles and screamed in sheer shock.

Rain.

We stared at each other with eyes wide as saucers at the sky drool showered us with playful intent. I felt a strong grip on my wrist and a yank that dragged my off the grass, and down the hill. The rain only worsened, the droplets sounding off like drums against the ground.

"My mom's gonna kill me if you get sick! You have to run faster!"

Yes, it's funny now, but not so much then. I had no energy to run after sprinting from my home to the tree which really wasn't that long ago.

Realizing that, the friend scooped me up in one fell swoop, holding me up on their back as they ran.

Now, I don't know what it is, but rain is perhaps one of the greatest symbols of longevity. But for another thing, it made me sleepy. Not tired, but sleepy. It was a peaceful sensation, like being told in the softest of voices to rest.

I had the friend to thank for that day, and for all time because I might as well. That's not exactly the best way to word it, as it makes me sound indolent, but all well.

To be frank, I'm fine if it sounds that way.

Words aren't ever enough. No matter how much of a dictionary a person can be, what they say only confuses me.

I'd much rather have to delve into something, or have a phantom come to life before my very eyes.

Perfection is subjective, as is one's understanding of everything else in this world, but that's what makes it all utterly fantastic.

It's an art in that of itself, just like that day with the friend.

I don't have a picture, much less a painting of what it was like. That day is a memory that is kept safe with me, and the sweet Nightingale which sings by the great big tree with the daring scarlet letters from its branches.

First drafted: 11/1/2021

Uploaded time: 1/11/2021 | 19:31 | Monday