The memory box
A melody begins
Two figures joined, circling in the centre of a white-gold gilded box; a room. A room in slow dance, circling.
Circling figures contained within memories, seared.
Seared, as lightning sears the mind’s eye, like a flash.
A flash fading, slowly.
Slowly orbiting the two figures, guests, dressed in dark, dressed in light.
Light sprouting from the corners of high ivory walls, bright white, decomposing into violet-blue at the edges.
Edges becoming wings, wings becoming halos.
Halos; energizing to the midnight-draped watchers.
Watchers in motion, as planets around a sun.
A melody builds
Suns, they’ll swear it—or perhaps not quite that bright, they won’t recall.
Recall.. oh yes, yes, there was porcelain.
Porcelain tables, with high candles.
Candles like steps; steps up, to forever.
Forever… Will this be remembered, forever?
A forever - high ceiling, pushed into forever, by mighty ivory pillars.
Pillars bearing the weight of the memory of a giant white room… or was it just a fleeting memory of a fragile music box?
A box of memories, a funny thing. Things like sights and sounds and smells, so vivid, distort the dimensions.
Dimensions that seems so large in the moment, could they ever really fade?
Faded pale roses, picked at full bloom.
Picked moons, linked by vines, a quiet galaxy.
A galaxy adorning a ceremonial altar.
The altar like a portal, a frame.
Framing the new generation with the old.
Old memory, once vivid, forged in sound and sight—seemingly eternal in its moment.
Moments ripple, ripples echo, echoes fade, leaving only the shrines to what once seemed brilliant.
Brilliance fade, but until then, make memories around the rose altar, and begin the dance anew.
A melody fades