The Old, The New and The Forgotten

An Essay by Jonathan Lerma

Too often, these days, I have moments that overwhelm me as if caught in a torrid of waves. Moments lost. All that was, all that is and all that is washed away. The joys, the tears and the many moments I no longer remember.

 It is autumn now and the leaves are falling. I seek those moments that offer comfort. The Old, like a well-worn jacket that is no longer functional but suggests security that feels familiar. That reliable that says all is okay.

 And as the air cools once again, change approaches. I search for warmth but there is only coldness in The New. Absence of testament that breeds uncertainty. Trust is a hard-fought battle. Even more so, when The New comes disguised in The Old.

 But now, winter is coming. The frost chokes my joints, and I am slow. The Forgotten is where my lost memories reside. Dreams drowned by the weight of loss. Condemned and sentenced. There will be no appeals and demolition is certain. Discarded and forgotten.