LOVEGRACE (The Art of Forgetting: 2016 Re-work)

[Originally called 'The Art of Forgetting'], shorlisted in the 2013 Movellist of the Year Awards.|'What happens when you lose a memory? Do you lose yourself? After all, it is almost like a neurological reminder that you are alive and that you have existed'// A drama about love, grief, happiness and trying to figure out which memories in life are worth keeping, and which are worth forgetting about. // The version of the novel I am planning on here is an extension of the original piece I submitted but it is not the 'final' piece as such. I plan on coming back to this and changing a lot about it.


1. Prologue.

I think the first memory I have could have been before I was born. I mean, we always have those instants that perform in our awareness; moments so equivocal and shadowy that it is so hard to distinguish them between a dream you had a couple of years ago or a time you experienced before you could really consciously collect it as a memory, like when you were two or three years old. Maybe we all recall a period when we were enclosed within the frames of our mothers, sheltered in a soft orange glow, similar to the colour you get when you close your eyes on a sunlit day, and the light seeps like a sunset through your lids. Maybe we can all remember our mothers’ voices thriving through our undeveloped souls like when you cover your ears and the sound of your voice rebounds loud inside your head. Maybe we can remember the huge heartbeat and surge of blood flowing through as if we were being prepared for the intensity of life. It could be there, lodged somewhere within the hippocampus of our brain; the memory of our lives before we began to live them. See, it could just be lodged in a jammed drawer of memories that won’t jerk open, no matter how hard you strain, because over the years, other things you have remembered have undermined the first recollections. Maybe.


What happens when you lose a memory? Do you lose yourself? After all, it is almost like a neurological reminder that you are alive and that you have existed. Whether you remember your first kiss or that time in fifth grade when you got food poisoning on your ninth birthday. Or when you think back at the time you went on a family cruise around the Caribbean and you didn’t want to return home. Let’s just say you were not conscious of that anymore. What would that mean? And I do not know exactly who I am asking. It could be God, even though I know I will not get a response from Him. Maybe he’s too busy peering into a Las Vegas cabaret club from the heavens. Maybe He died. Maybe He gave up.

I guess I’m really just asking myself a hollow question; sort of like most philosophical queries that rarely go answered.


My dear Jo,

I just want to know if you will still exist when you come back. 

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