O que j’eusse aimee, o toi qui le savais

O toi que j’eusse aimee, o toi qui le savais I’m looking through the window and writing this story from memory.

As I’m looking out the window I notice that the rain has turned to snow. This reminded me of the era of old televisions, when a snow of electrons appeared on the screen as soon as the program was over.

I have certain questions, but they are not directly related to this image. It is an emotion that comes over me and I wonder: where does something begin and where does it end? And, what remains? Perceiving the reminiscences of an event as present, as if there was no past, no future. The everlasting experience in the mind, sometimes embraced in the body of things or their appearances. The idea can ascend and descend, but it can also linger, written or drawn on a piece of paper or filmed and uploaded to the Web. The present can emerge from the past when we feel attracted to an event over and over again.

Repetitious moments, memories. But is there a familiar moment that could somehow belong to the past, and yet never had happened?

Can we find someone familiar even before we are acquainted? And, of course, when the present becomes the past and the present is already in the future, that moment is long gone, but it has its own life in the hidden memories or in a different life form. Similar to when we recognize an unknown face in the street. I read an article a while ago, and it explained that love at first sight doesn’t exist, but that we can fall hopelessly in love at the last sight and on what remains of it.

This brings to mind Baudelaire’s poem which describes this perfectly: I remember it was a nice day. I was hanging out with my friend Steve as she walked past. She was walking down the empty street, effortlessly remaining its focal point, drawing the gazes of everybody.