Memory

Flipping through the flimsy pages, the comics suddenly catch my eye. Black and white, a simple cartoon of a man cracking walnuts, and I'm suddenly flooded with a memory I can't name. A memory, but not enough of a memory to have words, and a description. A feeling. Warm. Happy. Like I've been reminded of something, a story, a picture, I saw when I was much younger. But the more I focus on the picture, the quicker the feeling fades away, and I scramble to grab onto a scene, a word, anything. Closing my eyes, I allow the fleeting, half developed slips of thought to collect, like water in a puddle, and as gently as I can, trying not to spill, I pour it into words.