An Imitation You

A moment of sparse beauty, one of several littered across an otherwise beige history. Taken out of context, its memory remains intact, untainted.

And that’s what I did. To do anything else would have taken it away from me. Some things are better left alone, separated, isolated, floating and suspended just above our otherwise foggy heads, something to look toward to clear away. Some things are better left enjoyed than catalogued.

A memory, a single memory, makes a doorway.
A doorway down which two paths split.
And I. I took the road most rewarding.
Like an improv game: Isolate the beautiful and capitalize on it.

Because, that was that. That was it. I spend the remainder of my days searching out equatable bliss. Taking comfort in imitations, however poor, because imitations are all they are and imitations have become all I expect.

An Imitation You. An Imitation Moment. Trapped in Memory, I am free. When Living is oppressive, I become a faded image of that which once was and can never be again. I make it my life’s mission to seek out all and anything that will trigger the integers of mortal space amongst the infinity of my mind. Isolate, and Capitalize. Memory, and Break free. Seek and Absorb. Drain. For all its worth. A point of pure mindlessness in which bliss is fleetingly reached. A calling back in time for a specific set of scenes of pictures that allows me most calm. I close my eyes and smile a smile of satisfactory something, all the while my body is just beyond my reach. I will dwell for eternity in the corridors of my brain, in hallways of memory, channeling aesthetic sensate perfection.


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