Things are getting better lately, i haven't complained much about life but more like accepting it. It's a good lesson, since complaining doesn't really solve anything better. And lately i found that letting go is actually one of probably the best decision i've made for S, i didn't have time to write this in my blog but here i am.
About a few weeks ago i got the opportunity to help his brother to open up and clean all his belongings, i got to say, it's not an easy job but i'd really love to open 'a little' memories. And for importantly, finding his personal journal he used to write back then. Everything was still in the same condition. Room, desk, bed, and..
Piano.
As much as i know, the view of the unused, dusty piano he used to play is the one that totally wreck my heart. And suddenly what Haruki Murakami's said is true, 'Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.' Suddenly i have this uneasy, unexplained feelings. It's both of sad and that warm feeling. I somehow feel like i'm home for a long long time, but at the same time, i feel like there's a storm raging on inside my heart.
I cannot really say much what happened after that. Overflowing memories, i'd say. To not cry at that moment was probably too impossible. I can still remember there are a lot of his belongings that really reminds me a lot of him. Paperworks, doodles, books, novels, handwritings, and so on.
I saw books and it reminds me of the time when he used to tell me things about history and freakish things.
I saw records and it reminds me of his piano playing, and how he gorgeously calmed and amused me with it.
I saw doodles and it reminds me of the time when we used to draw things continuously.
I saw his handwritings and it reminds me of the time when he used to write things, poetry, stories, letters as he silently listening to the pouring rain.
A rare pluviophile, a freak, nerd, wallflower, pianist, poet, romantic, brainiac that's what he is.
Forbidden to remember and terrified to forget, I can only note that scars probably have the strange power to remind me that my past is the best memories and that they're sad,
because we all know that they'll never happen twice.
About a few weeks ago i got the opportunity to help his brother to open up and clean all his belongings, i got to say, it's not an easy job but i'd really love to open 'a little' memories. And for importantly, finding his personal journal he used to write back then. Everything was still in the same condition. Room, desk, bed, and..
Piano.
As much as i know, the view of the unused, dusty piano he used to play is the one that totally wreck my heart. And suddenly what Haruki Murakami's said is true, 'Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.' Suddenly i have this uneasy, unexplained feelings. It's both of sad and that warm feeling. I somehow feel like i'm home for a long long time, but at the same time, i feel like there's a storm raging on inside my heart.
I saw books and it reminds me of the time when he used to tell me things about history and freakish things.
I saw records and it reminds me of his piano playing, and how he gorgeously calmed and amused me with it.
I saw doodles and it reminds me of the time when we used to draw things continuously.
I saw his handwritings and it reminds me of the time when he used to write things, poetry, stories, letters as he silently listening to the pouring rain.
A rare pluviophile, a freak, nerd, wallflower, pianist, poet, romantic, brainiac that's what he is.
Forbidden to remember and terrified to forget, I can only note that scars probably have the strange power to remind me that my past is the best memories and that they're sad,
because we all know that they'll never happen twice.
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