Making Memories

On one of the cold winter nights, I sit under my favourite zebra-patterned blanket with a cup of hot cocoa and let the memories flood my head. It is a very pleasant activity, one I look forward to throughtout the busy day. I smile to myself as the warm feelings embrace me. There’s not a single thing I don’t like about my life right now.

Well, maybe except that my peaceful moments can never last too long.

“What are you thinking about?”

You jump onto the bed, forcing me to scoot over under my blanket, still convinced that I like sharing. Which I really don’t. But – sigh – you have your ways of making me cave in.

I take a sip from my cup, slurping loudly in hopes it will make you go away and leave me to my blanket and my happy thoughts.

No such luck.

The only thing I get is that look you give me to let me know you think I’m a complete weirdo.

But secretely, that’s what you love me for.

“So?” you say expectantly. “Where have you gone this time?”

“Back in time. To last summer,” I say. “Until you pulled me out of my thoughts and ruined my cozy evening.”

You laugh. You’re probably the only person in the world who thinks I’m funny, even when I’m not trying to be. Especially when I’m not trying to be.

God, you can be so annoying. Which is one of the reasons why, I need to get away from time to time. I believe this is how we make this thing between you and I work so well.

“You never showed me the pictures,” you say. Then you turn so that you can see my face and you narrow your eyes at me. “Are you hiding something from me?”

“Please,” I raise my eyes up to heavens. “I’m not hiding anything. I didn’t show you the pictures because there are none.”

I earn another look from the series titled My Girlfriend Is an Alien.

“You go to all those remote places to see all the things you’ve always dreamed of seeing and don’t bring back a single photograph?”

“Yup,” I smile in reply. “That is correct.”

“Why?” you ask.

“Are you asking why I don’t take photos or why I can’t act like a normal person?” I tease.

This time you’re the one to roll your eyes.

“No. I’m asking, don’t you want to remember?”

“I do, and I remember every single thing. But I can only remember a moment if I’m present in it.”

“That’s so deep,” you say. I can tell you want to laugh, but you don’t, because you fear it would piss me off. You know me so well. “I still don’t see it.”

I sigh, starting to get a little impatient. There are so many things you still need to be educated in.

“I want to make memories. I don’t need to take hundreds of useless pictures,” I explain. “I want to experience things, not document them.”

You look away, a smile playing on your face.

“Come on! What was the last time you even looked at the photos you store on the hard drive, buried somewhere at the bottom of the drawer?”

You shake your head slightly.

I don’t expect you to understand. It’s enough that you let me do the solo trips, even though you don’t share my enthusiasm.

I go back to my hot cocoa.

You like being home. I, on the other hand, easily get homesick for someplace else. What I need is to step out and breathe, discover new places, look up and stare at the sky, talk to the trees, hear the wind moving through the branches, feel it in my face. But all this wandering is only possible when I know that you’re my anchor. You keep my feet firm and steady when my head’s in the clouds.

Getting lost is my thing. Bringing me back is yours.

You look at me again.

“Tell me about your memories, then?”

I set the cup down on the bedside table.

“That, I can share,” I say. “But the blanket’s all mine.”

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