As I walked along 'Smokers Street' this morning, I felt a wave of nostalgia rush over me. I saw myself standing beside the Smokers Street bench, twirling a clove cigarette stick with my fingers as I exhaled swirls of smoke whilst looking up at the building-blocked sky. I saw myself surrounded by people - Pretty Girl, Delirium, Haku and whoever else used to (or still does) smoke. Fast forward to a vision of a sky wrapped up in dark blue, and I found myself in the arms of Haku as we cuddled for the first time. Step by step the cemented earth lent me its time and memories, and step by step they all faded away.
I've no desire to retrace my steps and go back in time; I stand by the belief that the past is 'past' for a reason. I see it all now as short stories, a fleeting narrative irreversibly published in the metaphysical anthology of lives. If I were to have a choice regarding visions, I'd choose to not have memories. I was never the type to finish my drafts, after all.
Where will my footsteps be taking me? I want to keep on hating the past, for the moment I fall in love with it will be the moment I'll know I've failed.
Chihiro
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