Laura N

Faded. More vivid in my mind then it ever will be physically again. Rougher than I expect, why should it have been smooth? Because my memory of that day is all smoothness with nothing ugly to wrinkle it.

 

Is there a smell? Is the smell from the object or a memory? What is real and what is imagined – why is it so hard to tell? It should be crisp perhaps. Familiar, Friendly. Exciting?

 

Light yet solid. Why when asked to look earlier, did I touch instead? Instinct to see if it was still real. Perhaps now I should look instead. Touching again I seem to leap to the sound of onamatopaeia, . Why is it so hard to stick to the brief? Is that a reflection of that day?

 

The taste is unexpectedly delicious – putting your hand in to grab a chocolate – any one as they’re al good – biting in, and the surprise of caramel oozing out, slowly seeping into your tastebuds both without you noticing,  whilst simultaneously making your eyes brighter and your smile wider, yet still not quite admitting it was what you were secretly hoping for when you dipped your hand into the box.

 

Sharp but in a witty way. Tall and crisp. You know what you get with them – it’s written all over their face. The important details, the headlines, are obvious to all who look. But it takes some more time to read between the lines, to uncover all the things you wondered.

 

For what it represents. A treasured memory. A realisation dawning. All happy things. A funny story.

Would it be the first thing I saved in a fire? Maybe not the first, as my memory of that day shines far brighter than the object ever will. But it would be in the top five, I think.

Is it proof? Of what you know, what you trust, what you love? Does hindsight make it sweeter?

Because it makes you smile, feel unadulterated joy, laughter and smile again. You could feel that without the object perhaps, as you remember that day often, when anyone asks. But it’s always nice to have a prompt to look back on when you think back. Maybe to share one day with your son.