I think in colors. Wrong. I remember in colors. If I were to think in colors right now I’d be thinking in black because all I really want to see is the inside of my eyelids.
My brain is on a constant misfire, and I relate EVERYTHING to something else. Quite frequently it’s insulting to people when I mention it, but it is never meant to be. Your face, something you say, the way you pick your nose, it just reminds me of someone or something, or a song I heard, and I have to say it. Maybe it will make your day. Maybe it will make you want to punch me. The choice is yours.
But whenever I dig back in the past, it’s colors I remember. Colors or music or sometimes both. I remember bright flashes of color, and the nights I’d spend up to no good at the movie theatre with my two best friends, drinking Starbucks’ coffee and trespassing to the building under construction to blow up “condom balloons” and throw them off of the building. I remember a friend directing traffic with a broom stolen from said construction site, and I remember skinny-dipping in a remote lake. I remember Adam’s Song by Blink 182 the undercurrent to all of our laughter.
I remember black and white, as in converses, and I remember my best friend running away from home to come to my house. I remember her betraying me, outing all of my darkest secrets to the entire school so nobody would look at me unless it was to make a cruel remark. I remember feeling her pain through it all, and never reciprocating, because I knew deep down she was hurting. I remember her scars and stories. I remember Green Day and Pillar. Oh boy, do I remember Pillar, but that’s a story for another day.
I remember black and red, the color of the Crossfade CD. I remember that along with pink, because I had a full bottle of “Sweet Temptation” perfume on my desk and I would spray it around my room. I remember a complete breakdown but at this moment I just still cannot remember why I had been so absolutely hopeless. I remember writing diary entries in my own blood, desperate cries for help that never left my own mind. I remember Smile Empty Soul.
I remember brown and green plaid, and late nights drinking tea, talking on the phone to long distance friends, and I remember being sang Garth Brook’s “The Dance,” and Elvis Presley’s “The Ghetto.” It was awful, and singing was not in his career path, but I remember.
I remember bright sky blue, and Fall Out Boy. I remember as many books as I could fit in my bag, drawing supplies, and my Fall Out Boy CD.
I remember yellow, campfire, margarita mix, SoCo and coke, and “chubby bunny” and reading vampire diaries. I remember being pushed on the swings, smoking entirely to much, and I remember “closing that door that can never be opened again,” lighting up on the end of that dock. I remember Hawk Nelson’s “California.”And I remember beer pong and “In The Ayer.” To this day I still swear I saw that mountain lion.
I remember a cloudy grey, and more late night conversations simply because the calls were free and the friendship that blossomed from that alone. I remember a patient soul, waiting for me to get the hint, and denying me when it mattered. I remember “The Bleeding” by Five Finger Death Punch and endless YouTube videos.
I remember navy blue, like the color of my scrubs, as I was introduced to a side of town I had never endeavored to be near. I remember the color of dirt and grime, and how comforting it was on the city bus because I knew that these were my patients, my extended family, and I knew they would have protected me from the world.
I remember the green threading of his black jeans, and I remember the mint green of a Shamrock Shake and how my now husband ventured for buying me a Fish Fillet when I said I wasn’t hungry, because he thought I should eat. I remember playing that stupid game, Tibia, just for a chance to talk to him.
I remember the black, shining lens of a camera. I remember a internal civil war based solely on morals and reputation. I remember making the right decisions. I remember heartbreak and jealousy and I remember learning a lot more about myself than I had wanted to.
I remember gold as a child, and I remember dreams of Michael Jackson being my best friend and going on adventures (Such as retrieving the gold coin that was stolen by the evil red genie.)
I remember. Hope I don’t come off as too crazy, but what we remember is what pieces us together.