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Submitted on
August 27, 2012
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Most of us don't live our life, we barely exist.
How sad to think that one day it will over, finished, no more !
I am giving myself a memory day.
To gather what I can remember, the happy and the sad.
I have come to realize that our memories are not formed from what we experience as such, but with what we are told and have seen in forms of pictures and snippets of our imagination, fueled with what we really wanted them to be like.

I remember my first party dress.

It was a shade of pink frosting, and the over-abundant frills had me feeling like I was floating on a cloud.
Many years later as I took it from its weathered box in the attic, the frills were less copious and the shade of pink was faded and unremarkable, but still it had me feeling as if I was 5 years old again, twirling in the summer sun, reveling in my first taste of ice-cream.  
Rewinding feelings of decadence and the sharpness of that cold and sweet and every mouthful I have had since, is as savored and treasured as the first.

Photographs had been taken on that special day.
Now dog-eared and yellowed with age, yet so obviously touched by many eager hands and seen with bright eyes and echoing laughter as they were placed into an album, to be perused over and over and then forgotten.

Memories are forgotten.
Until we allow them to re-surface, and then we twist them to how we want them to be.
Each time is more different than the last.
We primp them and add or omit, depending on our mood and how we want them to be seen.

I also remember spilling ice-cream on my pink party dress and watching the dark stain appear.
I felt the tears slip down my cheeks and the sheer devastation only a 5 year old could imagine.

But that did not take away from the splendor of my dress or my new found taste for ice-cream, in fact it enhanced the beauty of what that day gave to me and allows me to repeatedly feel since.

I remember my mother lovingly wiping the stain till it disappeared.
Her soft hands wiping away my tears and her warm lips on my cheek as she told me she loved me.
Many more memories yet to come.
To be opened up and examined by my imagination, and although I may embellish a memory, the truth is always there to be told and the frilly bits are for myself alone, because memories can be a dream as well..
Memories are for the brave ....
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:iconlindartz:
Spledid!! This was for me almost like looking at a painting in verse! I was wrapped around every word.
I really love how you express yourself. :)!!
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:iconlacydrawers:
LACYDRAWERS Feb 28, 2013  Professional Writer
Thank you so very much x
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:iconlindartz:
You're very welcome :hug:!!
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:iconstarlight2infinity:
humm well memories are very much that dear as you say not what really was but our edited version
Agree
Thank you for sharing this one Trudie :hug::heart:
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:iconlacydrawers:
LACYDRAWERS Aug 28, 2012  Professional Writer
Thank you for reading my work my friend xx
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:iconstarlight2infinity:
your most welcome dear :hug::heart:
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