The well of memories

The well is unfathomly deep below its coal-dark waters, where memories were stored away in a chaotic order. Now there are times when he tries so hard to look for the scattered slices of the dreams he achieved, those who are so ephemerous that when we make them real they keep on being just that: dreams. Those are the times when he's scared to go on, towards the future, for the more we walk forward, the more we leave behind. And sometimes memories just are not enough. Now there are the nights he struggles to sleep while doing his best to recall the voice he heard coming out of the woman that was finally real after ten years. But after those magical moments, she faded away. The bones and flesh he saw, and the irretrievable notes he heard and felt, aren't but a spectre, a blurred reflexion in the waters of the well of memories. And others may laugh and say "Why should you care?", but they don't know, they don't understand. As for him, he wishes he could live those moments over and over again, at his will.