There are moments we return to, now and always. Family is like water - it has a memory of what it once filled, always trying to get back to the original stream.
One look at each other and it was immediately understood that they both needed a clean slate,,, The obliteration of memory.
Memory has a heavy backspin, yet it’s still impossible to land exactly where we took off.
We seldom know what we're hearing when we hear something for the first time, but one thing is certain: we hear it as we will never hear it again. We return to the moment to experience it, I suppose, but we can never really find it, only its memory, the faintest imprint of what really was, what it meant.
He's at ease, his body sculpted to the music, his shoulder searching the other shoulder, his right toe knowing the left knee, the height, the depth, the form, the control, the twist of his wrist, the bend of his elbow, the tilt of his neck, notes digging into arteries, and he is in the air now, forcing the legs up beyond muscular memory, one last press of the thighs, an elongation of form, a loosening of human contour, he goes higher and is skyheld.
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