Memory is not a passive quality of our mind, not a kind of record of our actions but an active effort to reactivate the past. Indeed, memory is a tremendous effort of our attention to reopen the doors of past. Usually I prefer the dizzy nostalgia or my intricate fantasies, but nothing about past. I dream, but there is no new shadow in my dreams, only the old ones and all the players hired to entertain me a night.
Some relationships in life will last long, even without your consent. In the future, there will always be a phone ringing or an unexpected visit. I wondered about us then I discovered that you are like these friends I left. You are like Q…, G… or B… : strangers to you, and strange people indeed. I once met them and they are now part of my life. That does not mean I spend days with them, that does not mean I think of them all the time, that does not mean my life worth something thanks to them. It just means that when my life will shut from the world and open me to the darkness, I will pick up the pebbles of my few decades, few dense images, smooth as stones stroked by the seductive voice of the sea. Each of them will be one of you, then my burden and I will be the preys of the greedy void, vanishing into the roots of sleep.
