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I Found My Memories
I have been a writer longer than I have been anything else.
I found my old journals. I don’t even remember keeping them. I thought for sure I burned them with all the rest. It makes no sense to me to remember things I would rather forget.
They are dated from September 1994 until May 2016. Just a few of the leather-bound and or spiral notebooks in my collection. All the rest I burned in a bonfire.
April 6, 1997, I met my true love whose heart I would chase for the next 3 decades with no hope of catching. A lesson 30 years in the making. The heart wants what the heart wants, even if it is not yours.
On August 3rd, 1997, my friend was shot and killed in a gang-related incident.
The subsequent years before were small milestones of my life. First Jobs, first relationships, and just about firsts of everything a teenager and young adult would experience.
In October of “94” I took my first hit of acid called Red Sun. In my journal, I describe it as if a veil was lifted from my eyes and I could see color for the first time. Crickets played in an orchestra under the bright glow of the moonlight.
Later that night I watched Schindlers List on a VHS tape.
All of “96” I struggled with direction. I felt so alone that year. My life felt like a…
