“It stung like a violent wind that our memories depend on a faulty camera in our minds” ~ What Sarah Said – Death Cab for Cutie
There are these beautiful snapshots I pulled off my old cupboard door a few days ago. I’m moving, and its time to create a photo album with little notes next to it for me to look back on. The photographs are small and inconspicuous in comparison to the feelings that will never be captured and stories that remain untold. Forgotten by some, perhaps, but not by me.
It is as if the photographs and videos are now edited with filters added, creating something better than the memory itself. Shades of colour, brighter than I remember, of a time I miss. I think of easy evenings, late night tears, early morning tea and unlimited conversations about life. I now understand that some kind of tornado spun through our lives and flung us in different directions.
Are our memories better than the actual moment? Because I’m looking back with absolute nostalgia and I think about how much I miss the people in my head. The people in my head make me laugh uncontrollably, never cry. The people in my head hug me and never tear me down. The people in my head say ‘sorry’, never ‘goodbye’. The people in my head aren’t real. The friendships were never perfect, they were not always coloured brightly. I was not always right, and it was not always fun.
The people in my head aren’t real, they probably never were. But the people I made these incredible memories with are, and does that not make them better? Sure it’s over now, and I have resigned myself to the fact that a certain chapter in my life is now closed. I can still miss it; miss them, miss talking shit and drinking wine and dreaming big.
Maybe, for my sanity, the faulty camera makes all the difference in the world. Deep down, I know that my memories are really hyped up versions of the truth, but it doesn’t matter. I remember it well, with digital records of an incredibly happy time in my life. Small images, big moments.