Memories

I go through nooks and crannies at home, open drawers or cupboards, stop and touch small objects, losing myselg in memories of what each one has to tell me and triggering a multiple emotions that are sometimes hidden within me.

Eveything I keep or is offered to me, I establish ties and connections that make it difficult for me to detach even when I am asked why I keep what has to use. doesn't it? I think so because at some point it was important and then I get lost telling its origin and history so that it lasts until someone decides for "your end".

Each and every memry is a piece of us and of those who gave it, they record every day life events as they happen, without leaving out any detail, place, date, fact or gesture.

Memories are the history that continues to resist the finitude.