Relive, Try

I only wanted to remember how they felt like. I did not know that they would not be the same. Or perhaps I did, but just gave it a try anyway.


I wanted to remember what it felt like to be kissed, so I kissed my friend. It was at the back of a bar, while everyone else was inside, dancing. It had been a long time since I kissed someone and I wanted to experience it again before I completely forgot how it felt like. I held his chin, leaned over slowly and kissed him. His lips were soft. His tongue tasted of beer and his breath had the scent of cigarette. His fingers ran through my hair while my hand held his face.

The kiss was sweet. It happened the way I wanted it to happen. But it was empty.


I wanted to remember what if felt like to be hugged, so I asked for a hug from my teammate. She found me slumped at my station. She asked me if I was alright. I told her that I was not feeling well. I had been working long hours for the past few days but I was still unable to cope with the load. To add the icing to that bitter cake, I caught a cold that morning and was all lethargic from the medicine. I held out my arms and asked for a hug, longing desperately for comfort. She hugged me, held me tight for several minutes.

The hug was every bit as warm as I hoped it would be. I felt my friend’s love as she tried to comfort me. But it did not feel the way I hoped it would.


I wanted to remember what it felt like to have someone sing for me. That’s why I was thrilled when a guy dedicated his song in the videoke to me. We had been dating for a few weeks already and I knew that he had an amazing voice.  Our friends were teasing us and I could not keep from smiling. He sang a love song, a ballad that suited his voice perfectly. He hit all the right notes and the dynamics were heartfelt. Everyone clapped when the song ended.

It should have been better than that other song that another guy sang for me, but it was not. It did not even come close. Because it did not mean anything.


I wanted to remember what it felt like to take a long walk with someone and just talk about anything, so when a guy told me that he wanted us to talk before we went home, I said yes. It was the morning after a night of partying and everyone else had left. He told me earlier that he liked me and I was impressed by his courage and by his rather unexpected approach. We walked and talked for an hour. There were jokes and laughter, and then there were more serious moments.

I enjoyed every minute of our walk, but as I went home, I remembered that it was supposed to feel a lot better.


Futile. Of course it was. They were no more than synthetic moments, failed imitations of those that I hold in my memories. Good memories cannot be designed, after all. They just happen, and I will have to wait until they start happening to me again.