and then came hope..

From your memories, sad brother—from the fitful risings and fallings I heard,
From under that yellow half-moon, late-risen, and swollen as if with tears,
From those beginning notes of sickness and love, there in the transparent mist,
From the thousand responses of my heart, never to cease,
From the myriad thence-arous’d words,
From the word stronger and more delicious than any,
From such, as now they start, the scene revisiting,
As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing,
Borne hither—ere all eludes me, hurriedly,
A man—yet by these tears a little boy again,
Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves,
I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter,
Taking all hints to use them—but swiftly leaping beyond them,
A reminiscence sing. "
— Walt Whitman (Song of Myself)

Why is it that we cant put the past away, everyone likes to take a stroll down memory lane and think about the life that was, there is an aspect of our spirit that is historian, a bit of a pedant who reminisces or remembers things that were. We all are bombarded with the clichéd thoughts of ‘What it all meant’ clashing the curvatures of our heads until the brain hemorrhages and the train of thought sooner or later gets derailed and we act on the trauma and head towards the jar of memories stored in brine safely kept away till this moment struck. These thoughts are sometimes constant like the patterns of dust on the butterflies wings, only when the wings flap swiftly do the patterns stick on..

Talking about things that fly and jars..I think about Pandora and the jar she opened which let out evils in the guise of horrid brown winged creatures..She let them all out first but she shut hope in the jar until she let it out the second time

In a time when the air was pure and balmy, and sickness and evils unknown she went ahead and opened the jar...Similarly in times when life is good I feel the need to walk down memory lane, open the jar of memories stored away...Thinking maybe, just maybe the second time around I would find hope.

“Hope...which is whispered from Pandora’s box only after all the other plagues and sorrows had escaped, is the best and last of all things. Without it, there is only time. And time pushes at our backs like a centrifuge, forcing us outward and away, until it nudges us into oblivion."
— Ian Caldwell