Reminiscence as an Art
     Memories are gifts you give yourself. I hide them in the most obscure places, setting them with delicate triggers of sight and sound and smell for me to trip when I least expect it. Sometimes when I'm experiencing something really amazing, I simply imagine myself turning on the record switch for future enjoyment. It really works, most of the time. Unfortunately, it doesn't work for all things, such as school lectures or mundane, everyday activity. Sometimes it even turns on all by itself, unexpectedly, if something unusual is happening.
     I trip a memory almost every day. The combination of humidity and cologne that sends me to Berlin all over again. The smell of Scott's hair, evoking memories of lazy weekend mornings in his bed, the summer air filtering in with the sunlight. Hearing Dave's laugh and being 19 again, on the way to class in his car. Driving down C470 at 95 miles an hour, remembering Josh's mouth on my dick and pressing hard on the gas pedal as I came. The headache that took me back to the front steps of my highschool, where I walked away and never looked back.
     Invariably, the moments stand out as pristine and airbrushed. That's one of the beautiful things about memories: there's enough truth to satisfy, but just enough omission to entertain.

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