Photographic memory.

Everyone who knows me is well aware of my obsession with pictures. I always carry a camera, which I reluctantly upgrade every few years, to document my existence as if a moment would be completely erased were I not to snap that shot.

This past weekend, while I was attempting to straighten up my ridiculously messy table, I found a whole bunch of pictures resting carefully in their little envelopes waiting to be placed in one of my many photo albums.

I would have put them away then, except that I didn’t have any room on the photo albums I did have so the first thing I did when I got out of work on Monday was head on over to Kate’s Paperie. There, I purchased two lovely red scrapbooks.

Why red you ask?
I don’t know…I guess I felt bold.

Anyway, since then and up until last night I have spent every free minute I’ve had sticking pictures in the scrapbooks. This has given me something to do during my sleepless nights because, yes, my insomnia is still in full swing.

In any case, I have been having a really good time doing this. Before I started sticking, I looked through my other photo albums (all organized in chronological order) as if I was preparing myself to find the last documented moment in said photo albums. While I was looking I was once again amazed at all the great moments I’ve had in my life, and what’s more, I was glad that I had those pictures to remind me of things I might otherwise forget. Although they are pictures and to most people they are just a visual image, to me that image brings back sounds, tastes, smells, and emotions that I might otherwise forget.

I don’t want to forget a single thing though I know I will because I am just THAT forgetful. The faces of people that have meant enough in my existence to be part of the never ending photographical collage of my life are also faces that I don’t want to forget. Meanwhile, the people who have meant something to me who are not documented in my books of life must stay alive in my memory because I can’t afford to let go of their face.

For now though, while my memory is still good and my pictures are there, I can’t help myself but smile at the possibilities. No matter where I go and who I leave behind, it’s almost as if I never left. I keep my photo albums as a security blanket. I carry them with me everywhere I go. They remind me that no matter how much things change, they always stay the same because no matter what happens, every face I’ve ever known and every moment worth remembering I have ever had are all contained in the echoes of places that are all underneath the same sky.