A Fading Memory
Sometimes, memories fade. Even if they’re still there, even if they’re real and you’re given chances to relive them, they fade. You realize it. How? Things aren’t the same anymore.
At my grandmother’s house, playing UNO and watching TV. A long-standing tradition that’s still going strong. The truth is, I don’t remember when it started, but Blago was definitely still alive.
“I made some olives—would you like to try some?” he asked me, but my first thought was to take a picture of them. “They're a little bitter,” he continued, and went inside to get me a pair of flip-flops.
But when I went for the photo shoot, without having tried the olives (yet), I couldn’t help but notice it. Blackgo’s toys and leash. As if they’d been left untouched by time. Like a little museum. Like a memory that has faded, but does us the favor of lingering a little longer in our minds.
Maybe, in the end, what stays with us isn’t what you took, but how much love you gave...