In the big grand scheme of it, it matters not. Our mistakes will be sucked up into the cosmos and whisked away from reality but the memories stay, they stain – indeliable in the walls, in the teacups, in the thoughts we pass on.
Behind the walls doesnt keep it in and keeping it in doesnt make it disappear. Hiding doesnt make it any less real. But memory does. And each and every memory that we create realises the truth no matter what the walls say or the mirrors see. And those memories that we make, we create them not just for us. Memories are composed of a million tiny fragments that come together to create a whole. That whole is as different for you as it is for me and is it for him; but we shape the pieces.
It’s all just a dance, this life thing. It’s the rythmn and the steps, and the in-or-out of tune intuitiveness of it, smooched together in one. So then, it’s the music that counts? The music that shapes the memory game. Why then, when the stations are in sync does Mozart sound like jazz?