Following on from the previous post, if you had to live for eternity in the memory of one moment of your life, what would that memory be?
For me it would be a morning in Spain. Barcelona in late March 2006. I woke up still nicely drunk in Pension Dali in the Gothic Quarter, just off La Rambla. Sunshine was spilling through the window, slice of pale blue sky, church bell ringing in the air. A cool breeze drifted through the open window, the whispered promise of another golden day. The chime of the bell danced with laughter and street voices chattering in a language I didn't understand.
The Dreaded One was lying across me in her familiar way. Her arm was lying loosely across my chest, her breath caressing my neck, her hand flinching occasionally with the twitch of a dream. It was one of those moments we all have, when you think if only this could last forever I would be content.
The moment itself was sublime enough on a physical level, but there was also the past and the future adding to the moment. I had quit my job. I had cut myself adrift. I had just been to Turkey to see an eclipse and I had danced in the rain and the mud and the sunshine at a week-long festival. I’d seen ancient ruins and done the kind of things I never could have believed a shy kid from the suburbs would ever do. There had been times in my former life when my family home was a caravan in someone’s garage and the future looked dull, and check me out now with my memories and my Rioja tainted breath and this beautiful woman whose presence in my life will always amaze me.
But this moment of freedom was not just about memories; it was also about the future.
Lying there drinking
in each passing second,
writing bad poetry
with my head pencil,
I thought about the day ahead and had no idea what I would do or where I would be, and I felt alive. Lying there in my cheap little room that may as well have been a palace, I thought about where I would be in a few days. I was heading to England again and I was going to see someone who felt weirdly important to me. I was going to see someone I wanted to see so much it scared me, someone who was probably the only person alive who could consistently and effortlessly draw real and hearty laughter from me. In many ways I’d prefer not to be so attached to people, but these things happen. They’re good things really.
Lying in bed that morning I felt like the luckiest fucker that ever lived. I really felt alive and I was genuinely grateful to be alive. My head was calm. The past had done its job and brought me to this place I could only have dreamed of, and I was heading for yet more happiness. Luckiest fucker that ever lived.
So that’s me. That’s my eternal moment. Got through the past, grateful for the present, looking forward to the future.
What would your moment be?
For me it would be a morning in Spain. Barcelona in late March 2006. I woke up still nicely drunk in Pension Dali in the Gothic Quarter, just off La Rambla. Sunshine was spilling through the window, slice of pale blue sky, church bell ringing in the air. A cool breeze drifted through the open window, the whispered promise of another golden day. The chime of the bell danced with laughter and street voices chattering in a language I didn't understand.
The Dreaded One was lying across me in her familiar way. Her arm was lying loosely across my chest, her breath caressing my neck, her hand flinching occasionally with the twitch of a dream. It was one of those moments we all have, when you think if only this could last forever I would be content.
The moment itself was sublime enough on a physical level, but there was also the past and the future adding to the moment. I had quit my job. I had cut myself adrift. I had just been to Turkey to see an eclipse and I had danced in the rain and the mud and the sunshine at a week-long festival. I’d seen ancient ruins and done the kind of things I never could have believed a shy kid from the suburbs would ever do. There had been times in my former life when my family home was a caravan in someone’s garage and the future looked dull, and check me out now with my memories and my Rioja tainted breath and this beautiful woman whose presence in my life will always amaze me.
But this moment of freedom was not just about memories; it was also about the future.
Lying there drinking
in each passing second,
writing bad poetry
with my head pencil,
I thought about the day ahead and had no idea what I would do or where I would be, and I felt alive. Lying there in my cheap little room that may as well have been a palace, I thought about where I would be in a few days. I was heading to England again and I was going to see someone who felt weirdly important to me. I was going to see someone I wanted to see so much it scared me, someone who was probably the only person alive who could consistently and effortlessly draw real and hearty laughter from me. In many ways I’d prefer not to be so attached to people, but these things happen. They’re good things really.
Lying in bed that morning I felt like the luckiest fucker that ever lived. I really felt alive and I was genuinely grateful to be alive. My head was calm. The past had done its job and brought me to this place I could only have dreamed of, and I was heading for yet more happiness. Luckiest fucker that ever lived.
So that’s me. That’s my eternal moment. Got through the past, grateful for the present, looking forward to the future.
What would your moment be?
1 comment:
I think you wrote about that, didn't you? I liked it. Very evocative.
Problem with the whole concept is that it's so hard to choose because the rules say that this one memory comes at the expense of all others.
Still, it's fun to think about.
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