In the darkness of my mind

I forget the words. They do not linger. They never do. All that is left is a sort of feeling of the meaning of the words and that feeling stays a lot longer than the actual words themselves, but eventually even the feeling moves into the darkness of my mind. Way inside of my mind, all I ever said or wrote resides there in some darkness, just waiting to be lit up again so that I can use whatever there was again. The light needed for me to remember things sometimes come unexpectedly, like now, when I was lying in my bed thinking about communication. I wish that everyday communication could be more like art; that I could express things with music and photography at an instant. Just think how it would be to instead of using words you could just produce a picture at an instant to show someone what you mean. Or to express your feelings with a song, complete with backup instruments, perfectly arranged.

My mind, or rather my memory, is a dull instrument. It does not function like most people’s; it lives in the now and hardly that sometimes. It seldom goes back to retrieve and re-use whatever knowledge or wit that once were obtained or created by me – unless triggered by something. Remembering the words is not hard work – I wish it was – it is just not possible most of the times. So, writing, for my part, is not as fluent as I wish it would be. I can forget a noun and spend a long time trying to remember it without any success, making me abandon a whole sentence or even a paragraph, or even worse, making me abandon the whole text for the time being. It can be any noun that is forgotten, even the simplest one. The hard thing is that I know that I know the word and that it is there, inside my mind, in the darkness, hiding, refusing to come into light. I can feel the word and I know what it means, but it stays away from me, like lost loves.

Perhaps the reason why I love words so much is because they are hard to keep? I spend much time reading and listening to other people and I always know when something is not correctly phrased or if the said does not follow logic. I think I have become that way because of my… well, I do not really want to call it a handicap, but I guess that that is what it really is. My mind is flawed. I am not as complete as I would wish to be. Although, I have always been this way. I cannot remember a time when it was not so. I do not know how it is to remember, because I have never been able to. Like a bird born in a cage does not know how it is to live in the open wild.

In my younger days I was always in awe of people that could remember and cite almost anything. I always thought of them as so much smarter than I. Later, much later, I realized it was not about being smart or not, it was just about me not having the same capacity for remembering things. Still today, I feel a bit inferior to those people. I wish I could cite – anything at all. I cannot even cite my own poetry, not even the really short ones. But like other handicapped people, I have grown super powers because of it, much like the blind develops a great sense of hearing, I have developed a keen sense of picking up emotions in anything said or written. Say anything and I know how you feel. Granted, it is not an exact science, but I am seldom wrong. Another funny thing is that I nearly always know if a person has said something or not if someone else claims it. I can tell if it is within the character of that person to say something like that in those words. The problem is that it is most often quite a useless super power to have. I wonder how many people there are out there with completely useless super powers.

I wish I had a super power flash light to light up my brain with, so that I could use everything in there that I have forgotten over the years and all the knowledge that is still in there, hiding in the dark. I still know all these things, I just cannot use the knowledge verbally. It saddens me. Often. But in writing, with some research, I can manage and I feel so much more alive and well. Not inferior, not handicapped, not damaged and not useless. I write and therefore I am.