Cold-Storage Memory
Sometimes we are born again through the memories we left in cold rooms.
I was looking for my hat—the wide-brimmed one I wore when I was someone else, someone who drove through red dirt roads and squinted into the sun like it was a dare. The kind of hat required in Dust Meridian.
It had been missing for years. Maybe longer. I didn’t even know I was looking until I opened the refrigerator and there it was, perched beside a frosty beer and a carton of eggs.
Cold to the touch.
But not dead.
I blinked.
“What are you doing here?”
I wasn’t joking.
It felt like it owed me an explanation. It had disappeared ten years ago. I looked high and low, traveled and called everyone I knew, but it never materialized. I lamented its loss—the countless adventures we’d shared. It was practically part of my identity for nearly a quarter of a century.
The hat turned slowly—almost shy—and answered, but the words slipped sideways, as if the air between us was warped. I heard syllables like birdcalls, like eucalyptus leaves whispering in spirals.
Like a secret I knew once, but had since packed away with my passport and the smell of old firewood.
Still, I smiled. Not because I understood. But because something in me stirred—some flicker of a self I’d shelved. Not abandoned, exactly—just chilled for safekeeping.
I held it to my chest. It smelled faintly of sweat and eucalyptus, of rain that never came.
I considered putting it back in the fridge. Maybe it liked it there. Maybe it was hiding from the heat of a life half-lived.
But I didn’t.
I slipped it on, and for a moment, the kitchen spun into something vast the wood floor cracking into gravel, the hum of the refrigerator becoming cicadas in the trees.
And there I was.
There WE were.
Me, and the version of me that remembered what the wind felt like in wild, open places. The one who once drove toward the horizon with no map.
And no need for one.
#reflection #essay #memoir #journal #osxs #100daystooffset #writing #dream
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Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.
Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!
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