Last First Memory

Op.PJW268, Study N°1839 - Paul Jung

I hold back all this time because for the first time in my life, I can’t paint the words I want.

That wasn’t even the right word I meant to write.  I paint those words, but it was never feels right. So I shut my notebook. But then stopping in the middle of the sentence is not who I am. I’d never be free if I stopped. So I begin with my first memories.

My first memory of you and I was this hot, bright sunny day. Our bodies stained by sweat while our lips put a wide smiles. It was all about quality talking and good music. We were young without a care for the world because we were living the moment. Too small to know that live could be rude and unpleasant once we grow up.

The first recollection of you and I in my mind was this cold, starry night. The night I’d never forget because it was the first time that commonly empty room get crowded with energetic kids.  It was all about jokes and good poems. We were passionate and fired up. No one cares about the outside world because we were building our own world. Too excited to give a damn about judgemental people and their mean mouths.

Long silver bench and dry wind was the first memory of us. We were dressed in black, white, and blue. We drowned in conversations. Conversations I didn’t remember about. The only thing that carved in my mind was bunch of pictures you took. The only thing that stayed in my head was your smile and your scent. You smelled like woods, green tea, and cigarettes and they were my favorite smells since then.  You simultaneously looked like a little kid with Pokèmon cards and a model of Dolce & Gabbana. You looked like a quite child with thoughts of warm blanket and hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. I don’t know how I looked like. I only know that I didn’t want our time together to be over.

But with them then came the last memory. The last memory I wish never had to be the last. Because to be the last meant that I couldn't capture another memories with you. Because to be the last meant this one memory is so horrible it put everything we've built to an end. And it was bad. The way I cried in your embrace. The way you replaced my favorite giggle with a sight so sharp it stabbed my chest. The last memories that left me in hatred that kills me instead of killing you. I put on fifty faces just to survive. I laughed  out loud on the lowest point just to stop myself from mourning, a mourn so poignant it touches any heart but yours.

I can’t put the first memories, the last memories, neither all the memories between them away in the pile of trash. They hit me but it felt like a kiss. Now when I finally can sleep with them without actually having a nightmares, you once again came with that sweet tongue of yours. You forever put me perplexed, whether sweet nectar or deathly poison you pour in my wine.

The last first memory of you probably the fact that I have such an affection towards you and I fucked my way up to the top because of it. It’s because I can’t put myself together, I'm trying with my every piece for the sake of old memories we had, for the sake of new memories waiting to be born, but I can’t stay at the bottom letting you do whatever you want to my inner working system. 

And there, I finished the sentences I want to paint at last.

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