"Life is like drawing without an eraser."
What’s more, is that in that refreshment of time not only do we “see”, but we have the competence to feel. As if such memories were placed in our hands to explore.
Some things, like the very moment I knew I had fallen in love, are etched so permanently in my mind that I can sense each rush of emotion and the way his hand felt in mine. I can sit on any bench and welcome the exact moment he looked at me and said, "I think this is what it's supposed to feel like forever." Others remain at a distance, close enough to see, but not yet able to touch. Those, like childhood memories of binkies and warm Florida sand, sweep just past my fingertips. Laughter and tears drip slowly down the window panes of innocence, blurring the edge of youth and adulthood. And you have to wonder – how does your brain decide which ones are worthy of a certain remembrance?
I've never been good at drawing, painting or anything of the sort. But I imagine the brain creates a composition in much the same way artists do; or at least those artists that work without an eraser. Memories aren't removed from the paper on which they've been sketched; some become the darker lines to fill the spaces we'd rather forget. Others we attempt to wipe away with our finger tips until they eventually fade into the background. We don't start over. We can't start over. Instead we're asked to allow each mistake to become a piece of the harmony embedded in our memories architecture. Sometimes those aberrations will muddle the clarity of the image; but I tend to believe more often than not it matures. In the end, they fabricate the most beautiful parts of our painting.
