Ardor for the Past
Entering the room the man felt the weight of the past one more time; what was quotidian or even mundane once, had been transformed by a new light of nostalgia and longing. He heard their voices, their songs, their stories, and thought of the memories the pieces around him carried. The room was a collection of facets of himself, but also of facets he had never known but could feel, and he witnessed his history being blended with the past.
The light of August made him wonder how many summers had these pieces seen, and how many will they see after him. He realized then, the past was a part of him, because one day he would be part of the past as well. He had learned to love the days of yore as a way to understand his present, his life, and the things around him. His sense of taste, and his idea of beauty had always been influenced by the evolution of his surroundings. We casually forget what was before us, and as casually will be forgotten, he thought.
After traveling around the world, and seeing different places, he came to believe a room full of stories was a room full of possibilities. Each piece had a story for him, but also its own tale without him. How many profiles had his mirrors reflected, how many pens had his desks flirted with, how many people had his chairs, and chests, and lamps helped? These were questions he didn’t have answers for, but the desire to become a part of them was stronger.
And now, seeing the room one more time, he smiled. His collection of moments sat there in time, never static, always in motion. The stories will keep coming to him, always bringing possibilities.