MEMORY

Memory.... is the diary that we all carry about with us ~ 

Oscar Wilde

Dear Journal: 

Last week in my cognitive psychology class, my professor asked that if there were any creative people in the class to please raise their hands.  I consider myself a pretty creative individual so I raised my hand and she then asked the people who had raised their hands, where did they feel their creativity came from? what inspired it? I told her that mine comes from somewhere I can't describe, but that when I feel strongly about someone, that person brings it out even more it's sort of something within me that I cannot pin point.

For years my creativity came from the love I felt for Benjamin Nunez, http://jazzy-jazzysjournal.blogspot.com/2010/12/omg-my-first-blog-entry.html but lately since I don't feel those strong feelings for him anymore, I have found that I am still able to be creative by looking at things and really paying attention to them, like staring at something I find to be beautiful or just searching within and waiting for something to come to my mind but from my heart or my gut, my soul.  Usually it will come mostly from my feelings  or what I am going through.  

Still, the other day Benjamin mentioned something about memory on one of his posts and immediately the word memory sparked something within me that I couldn't describe, so I picked up my pen because I was in class and I began to write.  I wrote a poem.  I guess he still inspires me deeply and well, I won't be mad at that.  Anything that sparks my creativity is a good thing...... Thank you old friend Benjamin.

Memory
By Jazzy

Memory that's what it said and in that moment I tried to forget.  For what reason would I remember if only sadness is what that memory brought and only sadness is what I felt?

And for days I looked and saw nothing it was a blank space a place that isn't real.  And someone came and took my hand and dragged me out of that crazy space and that was real and that was life and that was right.  I felt the touch and I felt the kiss and it felt right.

Memory no longer serves me, for I wished it one day to not remember and so I tried to think it over, but in my memory it had been over.  And I couldn't remember a time, a place or a space.  He wasn't real it never was for it was always just in my mind. No more memory.