A Thought to Them by Madison Bernaber
i think it was almost fall or summer. I was wearing a turquoise sweater. I was standing in the middle of the yard of my front house where I used to live. In my younger years of living, I was probably five or six years old. It was kinda breezy, but it was warm at the same time. I was wearing pigtails as my hairstyle, my hair used to be longer than it is now. I think I was holding something in my hand, probably a toy, well I wouldn’t know really, even though it’s my own memory. Many times, I would tell memories of my childhood, of my younger years, to my parents but they wouldn’t remember or they would be like, “What are you talking about, that never happened?” But, it would feel so real, like it actually happened. It can’t be a vivid dream, it just can’t be. So that’s why I would question sometimes if it was a dream or not, because other people wouldn’t remember but me. But honestly, I think it wasn’t a dream but my memory, my memory only of what my point of view saw. Because it’s me, I think I can only remember because I was there at those times, and nobody else since they were somewhere else. So, of course, they wouldn’t remember, because they wouldn’t be there at that time, or place, or moment, so how would they know? But I think someone took a picture of that moment, though I don’t know who, but I had my head tilted to the side as if I was looking curiously into the camera. I wonder if that picture is real though. So I could prove that it was a real moment. But how long or where would I find it? Or who has it? The picture would look like me in the middle, and a small yard with a mailbox in the background with white gates in the back. How were they painted then? Now it’s a different color than when I last passed it. I remember we had a flower bed on the right side, I think it’s still there though, like around the gates. But honestly that’s all I can remember of that evening or morning. .Was it my memories or was it just a zoned out dream that I had? It was so vivid though so it couldn’t be, but for now i’ll say it was “my memory” and a memory that I can remember only. Since no one else could remember, just like a thought, only if you ask what you’re thinking. You could remember, but who says it wasn’t though? If only I could remember. They weren’t there so how would they know? So it is a memory. To me at least, and a thought to them—
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To Walk in My Shoes
