Prints...Foot and Fingers

I have been gifted with a photographic memory.
If the above sentence makes you feel envious of my innate gift, let me tell, you have no idea how doomed I am with this horrendous gift. It�s another thing to sit back sipping coffee one lazy afternoon and track your life and it�s altogether different when pictures come flashing right before your eyes, disastrously close. So close, that you are tempted to touch them and erase something or put some finishing touches.
Pictures of your childhood spent in utter bliss, your first friends, your first love. All lost now. Everything comes right here. Haunted memories.

I must admit I must be having a billion pictures in my database. The day when I hanged up on my best friend not to talk again for three years, for having left someone so dear to my heart, for having to forgive the people I love for the same crimes I would hang anyone else. The characters from the many books I have read. The defiance and antagonism of young blood, the gradual changes in opinions and behaviors, the painful adaptation of your ideals, the day when I finally realised that the right is not always the rewarded one here, that cricket and hockey are not the only games people play, that religion is a very weak glue and that people have been killed to defend idols of mud and gold. That I will move on, no matter what. I don�t want to be the one who looked back on her deathbed, but I tell you, it does not solve any purpose. Looking back time and again. Because you will only see the opportunities lost, friends betrayed, found and lost love.

I am not in a low phase, everything�s as good as they should be. But the backlog of memories scare me. I don�t know how will I treat them when they decide to catch up with me one lazy afternoon�time will tell.