I didn’t want to move. I was too happy, and the moment was too fragile. My arm fell asleep, but I didn’t want to take it from under her. There are short periods of joy you have to stretch through a lot of empty years, me more than most. You have to make them last as well as you can.— Ann Brashares,My Name is Memory (via texasskyblueeyes)
Two girls, named A and B, are recalling an old story together. They get into this discussion about a picture hanging on the wall of one of the staircase landings in their elementary school. A picture of a girl picking flowers in front of a deep red sunset...
A says, "Oh! how nostalgic. You're talking about the picture of the girl in a pretty yellow dress, right?"
But then B says, "No, the dress she was wearing was red, just like the sunset!"
"No, it was red."
"No, it was definitely yellow."
"All right, then why don't we go see for ourselves?"
The two of them, filled with excitement, reached the old nostalgic school building.
"What color was that girl's dress?"
What color was it?
didn't have a color.
It was just a black and white picture.
The dress that dark silhouette wore was scribbled completely black.
Yet in their memories, both bickering girls were sure that the dress in the picture had a color.
Human memories are too vague. Thinking something has color when it doesn't, making things more dramatic than they really are, glorifying things... It gives new, greater meaning than was actually there. That's why I don't believe any of this talk about "beautiful memories".