Remembrance of things past

I was mussing the other day while a gruesome headache held me hostage. Remember Proust and his remembrance of things past? I do! Every time I let my mind wander, I think of my own olfactory reverie around a freshly baked Madeleine. It triggers a secret wish. I want to slip through the imaginary door between reality and dreams and weave fresh thoughts, overlap the old ones.

Maybe I should start a dream travel agency. The only one without a precise time of arrival or departure tours.

Name it Icarus. I know it is not very imaginative but such as it is, its buses would load up baggage made only of memories. Enough satisfying trances wrapped nicely in black leather boxes to keep anyone relaxed throughout the imaginary journey.

To embark on Icarus dream bus, a clear , vivid mirror rimmed with a red frame would shine in your dark bedroom, and after a few moments, you would be transported to a seat on the bus.

Now close your eyes, and enjoy the ride.

Float over lakes of despair, over multiple fields with dreams like flowers, snow-bound mountains hiding your years of relentless wander...

With the speed of thought, maybe faster, the bus would land in your own meadow of dreams and memories.

Now get your dreams out of the box ... do not even worry about any Customs ... but instead release them in the natural and forgiving nature of your own garden...

To be honest, and as a fair warning, it might be hard to live without your beautiful colored , golden, magic dreams and memories...

Parallel to that thought, think also of how much junk is in the trunk you packed...

But the idea is not to be caught in the past.
When you finally open your eyes everything is over, as if it never happened.

The black leather box ... empty now... You do not have memories anymore.